


End of the Line

by SandM1827



Series: Son Shine [5]
Category: Sons of Anarchy, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, Tears, character illness, mentions of past suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7066858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandM1827/pseuds/SandM1827
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This was the beginning of a goodbye speech.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: Angst, I can't stress that enough. Oh, and sexual content.  
> Gif set: [It's Time to Come Home](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/144766163289/son-shine-verse-he-needs-to-say-goodbye-abel).  
> Fic title comes from Answer by Sarah McLachlan which is pretty much my Stiles and Papa Stilinski song.  
> Character tags will be added with the chapters.  
> This is set about 20+years after Crossed Lines.  
> If I posted these add-on's to Son Shine Verse in any kind of order, this would be the final one.

The orange light of the rising sun washed over his husband’s pale flesh, highlighting the dark moles lining his body. The brisk morning air cooled their sweat soaked skin. The chirping birds and rustling tree branches in the distance did nothing to drown out the sounds of their lovemaking.

Juice had pulled Stiles out of bed just before dawn. He led him out to their special spot in the woods, by a small creek behind their house. He spread an old blanket out on the dirt, stripped him out of his pajamas, and took him down to the forest floor.

There was no rush to his movements. He did not mount his husband fuck him roughly in the throes of wild abandon. He took his time. He put Stiles on his hands and knees, and opened him up slowly, before pushing into him from behind. He savored the way Stiles gasped and tightened around him whenever he hit that sweet spot inside of him.

Juice levered them both up, bringing Stiles’ back flush with his chest. He fastened his teeth to the nape of Stiles neck and gripped a hand loosely to the base of his throat. He dropped his free hand to his husband’s cock, caressing it between his deft fingers in a practiced move, enjoying the pleasured pants it elicited.

Stiles shoved back to meet his thrusts, forcing Juice’s prick impossibly deeper inside of him. He dug his blunt nails into the meat of Juice’s thigh as he came with a shout, cum spurting over Juice’s fist. His hole clenched deliciously around Juice’s cock, causing him to clamp his teeth down hard on Stiles neck as he pushed into him a final time, emptying himself into his hot channel.

Their bodies quaked with the aftershocks as Juice carefully lowered them back to the blanket. He draped himself over Stiles body, not yet ready to part from him. Stiles groaned as Juice’s softening cock shifted inside his oversensitive body with the movement.

“Teeth.” Stiles murmured hoarsely, reaching back to touch Juice’s cheek.

He released his hold on Stiles neck obediently, using his tongue to lap up the little droplets of blood seeping from the pinprick wounds left behind. Stiles shuddered at the sensation, unconsciously pushing back against Juice at the contact. Juice delighted in the reaction, hearing Stiles heart beat wildly in his chest.

“Sorry.” He touched his lips to the pulse point on Stiles neck. “You’ve just got a very bitable neck.”

“As you are so keen on reminding me.” Stiles chuckled, rubbing the spot on his neck where he’d been bitten. “I’m surprised I have any real skin left there. I wonder how it’s not all scar tissue by now.”

“I always try to bite you in the same place.” It didn’t always work out that way. He wasn’t completely in control of himself when he was riddled with the animalistic need to sink his teeth into his husband’s flesh. “It’s my mark. It’s better than a tattoo.”

“I’m thinking of getting it tattooed.” Stiles joked. “So when all your teeth fall out in your old age, I’ll have the reminder.”

“Teeth do not fall out simply because you’re old. And, for the record, I am not old.” Juice pinched Stiles hip in retaliation for the comment. “Werewolf aging puts me around your age, if not a little younger.”

“And your actual birth date? Where does that put you?”

“Hey, I can still get it up,” He humped against Stiles, reminding him his soft prick was still lodged inside of him. “And I’m still in control of all my faculties. What does my age even matter?”

“I never said it mattered and I never said you were old.” He may not have said it outright, but he had alluded to it. “I’d love you no matter what age you were, even if you couldn’t get it up.”

“Oh, how sweet of you.” Juice gushed teasingly, nuzzling Stiles throat just as the regularly scheduled beeping sounded from Stiles watch. “Guess our morning’s over.”

“I’ve gotta get Dad his meds.” Stiles offered him an apologetic smile over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, love.”

“It’s okay.” He rested a hand on Stiles hip as he gently pulled his cock out of his wet hole. “I knew we wouldn’t have long when I brought you out here. We never have time to enjoy the afterglow anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” Stiles grumbled, any bliss or contentment left from their morning coupling was instantly erased from his face, a tight frown taking its place. “You started this knowing what time I’d have to give my dad his medicine. You don’t get to be pissed off when that time comes around just because you didn’t account for how long you wanted to cuddle.”

Stiles pushed away from him, climbing to his feet. He used the edge of the blanket to wipe the cum from his ass before snatching his clothing off the ground. He hastily pulled on the pajamas he’d been brought out in and shoved his feet into his slippers.

“Stiles, I’m not mad.” He latched a hand around Stiles ankle to keep him from walking off. “I just…miss you.”

“I know.” Stiles dropped his head into his hands, hiding his face from view. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, that’s not…” Juice stood up from the blanket and wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist. “You don’t have to apologize. I understand you need to take care of your dad.”

“Do you wish I would have put him into hospice?”

“No. Absolutely not.” He would never leave John in one of those places to be cared for by strangers. “I just hate seeing you so tired.”

He couldn’t be entirely sure if Stiles was sleeping at all, they had stopped sharing a bed over a month ago. It was not intentional in any way. When John had taken a turn for the worse, Stiles had taken to spending his nights and days in the chair that held permanent residence beside his father’s bed.

“I know.” Stiles sighed, leaning in to his embrace. “And I know we don’t get to spend a lot of time together, which is weird because neither of us actually leave the house.”

Both of them were what Juice liked to call semi-retired. He still ran the garage, but he had hired staff to handle the day-to-day things. Stiles had begun bringing his caseload home when John had gotten sick, and had taken an extended leave of absence when John stopped responding to treatments. Truth be told, Juice didn’t think Stiles would ever really return to work.

Without their jobs to keep them apart, they should have had all the time in the world to be together, but it never seemed to work out that way. Stiles main focus was his father, while Juice took care of the house and the businesses, and also looked after Chibs, who had moved in with them after handing in his kutte following a heart attack a few years prior. At this point, he and Stiles could barely find them time to share a shower or slip away in the early morning hours to the privacy of the open forest.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles repeated, sounding close to tears. “What can I do?”

“It’s not on you to fix, Stiles.” They were both at fault for the distance between them. It was up to both of them to make it right. “Don’t worry about it, okay? We’re gonna have help soon.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let’s go inside.” Juice pointedly ignored Stiles question in favor of grabbing his clothes. “You need to give your dad his meds, remember?”

“Yeah. I remember.”

Stiles waited patiently for him to dress before they made their way back to the house. Juice noticed the overgrowth of grass in the backyard as they crossed it, making a mental note to mow it when he had the time. He amended the decision once they made it to the door, deciding to get one of the kids to do it when they arrived.

“Morning.” Chibs greeted as they entered the house into the kitchen. “I made coffee.”

“You’re not supposed to be drinking that.” Stiles chastised the Scot. “The caffeine isn’t good for you.”

“I don’t have many vices left, darling. I ain’t letting this one go.” Chibs took a defiant gulp of the hot liquid in his mug. “And you can’t make me.”

“What are you, five?” Juice snatched the cup out of Chibs hands before he could protest. “Do I need to call your daughter and tell her you’re being a pain in the ass? Should I tell her you are willfully defying doctor’s orders?”

“No need to pull out the threats.” Chibs held up his hands in surrender. “No need to worry my girl. She’d fly out here or make me fly out there and I don’t want to go there, I don’t like New York.”

“You don’t like New York or you don’t like Felix?” Stiles countered with a raised brow.

Chibs daughter and Juice’s younger brother had been married nearly fifteen years and Chibs was still having trouble with it. It was hard for him to see his daughter all grown up with a family of her own. Kerrianne and Felix’s two children only eased the tension so much.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Chibs shot back with a scowl.

“Yes. I do.” Stiles pulled a bottled water out of the fridge and took off down the hall toward John’s room.

“I don’t know why you hate my brother so much.” Juice had been trying to figure that out since Kerri and Fee had announced their engagement all those years ago.

It had been a shock to everyone to learn the pair had swapped numbers at Juice and Stiles vow renewal ceremony. They had kept in touch when Kerrianne and Fiona had returned to Belfast, and Felix to Queens. They had struck up a friendship that morphed into some kind of long distance relationship. Two short years later, Kerrianne moved to New York for grad school, and a few years after that she and Felix were married and welcoming their first child into the world.

“I don’t hate your brother.” Chibs claimed curtly. “I just don’t like him sleeping with my daughter.”

“I know it’s been a couple decades since you were married,” He grinned when the older man flipped him the bird. “But that’s what married couples do. Some, like my brother and your daughter, do it, not only for fun, but also to procreate. That is how you ended up with two beautiful granddaughters.”

“Do not use the word ‘procreate’ in reference to my little girl again.” Chibs cringed in disgust. “And you’re one to talk about hating on in-laws or whatnot. You and Stiles haven’t exactly been accepting of your boys’ old ladies.”

“That’s not fair. Abel blows through them so fast we barely have a chance to get to know them, let alone accept them.” The kid had been through four of them since he was twenty-one. “And we only actually met Lena- or it might’ve been Georgia, and whichever one pulled the gun on Stiles when he went up to check on the kids.”

“When I drove up to talk to him about Jackie-boy, I met a Kendall or, uh-“

“Krystal.”

“Aye.” Chibs nodded, face contorting comically. “Lad goes through ‘em, doesn’t he? Reminds me a bit of Jax, to be honest.”

“He is his father’s son.” Juice muttered sourly.

“Hey,” Chibs smacked him upside the head. “You and Stiles raised him. You are his fathers.”

“Not according to him.”

It was their own faults, really. They had not wanted to villainize Jax in Abel and Thomas’s eyes. Stiles didn’t want the boys to feel the weight of Jax’s sins when they were far too young to understand them. So they painted a pretty picture of Jax the big brother Stiles had as a small child, before the death and mayhem had destroyed everything good inside of him. They thought they were doing the right thing.

It was Abel who went looking for answers to Jax’s death, his need to understand fueling his search. He had always known Jax’s trip down 580 was not an accident, but it was not until he looked deeper that he found Stiles on that road with his father. That was when his anger found a singular focus.

Abel convinced himself that Stiles could have prevented Jax’s death, that Stiles had let Jax die out of spite. That belief had driven an unmovable wedge between Abel and Stiles, and put an unrelenting strain on the entire family. It was what drove Abel away from home the moment he turned eighteen, and kept him from returning for more than an odd holiday here and there.

“I went up to talk to he and Thomas about all this, about who Jax was and why Stiles never could have saved him. They both understood, or at least they gave me the impression they had.” Confusion marred Chibs features. “I talked to Abel more after, just to make sure he really got it.”

“He did, Chibs. He understood that Jax was once the guy we told he and Thomas about. He understood that losing Opie and Tara broke Jax irrevocably.” That knowledge had shattered a piece of Abel that Juice wasn’t sure he would ever get back. “He understood that Jax’s own decisions, made out of grief, put him on that road to 580. There was nothing Stiles could have done for Jax.”

“Then what’s his problem?”

“He doesn’t hate Stiles or blame him when it comes to Jax’s death anymore.” That had been an incredible relief for all of ten minutes. “Now he hates Stiles for keeping the truth of who really Jax was from him his entire life.”

“Christ.” Chibs scratched at his facial hair. “The kid is just angry and can see no other place to direct it but at Jackie’s closest living relative.”

“Something like that, yeah.” Abel had given Juice as pass, only because he had remembered a moment from when he was a child of overhearing Jax tell John that Stiles would never forgive him for what he had done to Juice. Abel saw him as another one of Jax’s victims, therefore guiltless in what he thought was the poisoning of he and Thomas’s minds. “I’m hoping he’ll come around eventually. He can’t stay angry forever.”

“Did you call the boys? Have you old them about….” Chibs nodded to the hall Stiles had disappeared down.

“Yeah. I, uh, called Thomas. He and the twins should be here in a few hours.” He had spoken to them just before they boarded their flight earlier in the morning. “I’m still waiting for Abel to answer his texts. Thomas said he would give him a call, he is the one person Abel will always answer the phone for.”

“How’d Tommy take it?”

“About as well as you’d expect.” It wasn’t as if John’s worsening condition came as much of a surprise, but it was still tough information to process. “I just hope Thomas can convince Abel to come down, and that they make it time.”

* * *

 

Thomas had tried to find a quiet corner in the airport to make the call, an impossible task given the hustle and bustle of the place. He settled for standing by a window, so his kids could watch the planes take off while he scrolled through his contact list on his cellphone until he came upon his brother’s number. He took a deep breath to prepare himself as he brought the device up to his ear.

 _“Yeah?”_ Abel’s voice filtered over the line, sounding impatient already.

“I just called to make sure you are on your way home.” Home being Beacon Hills, not the hellhole in Tacoma that Abel called home now. “I’m on a layover with Nate and Joanie now.”

 _“How are my niece and nephew?”_ Abel avoided his question to pose his own.

“Not good.” Thomas’s children had been sullen since he told them the trip to Beacon Hills was not going to be a fun family vacation. “Don’t change the subject, Abel. Grandpa wants to say goodbye to us. Are you coming home or not?”

_“I don’t really want to.”_

“You think I do? I moved away so I wouldn’t have to watch him die.” It was too hard to watch such a strong man like his grandfather slowly waste away. “He wants to see us, Abel.”

 _“It’s not Grandpa that I don’t want to see.”_ Abel murmured offhandedly. _“It’s the person we have to go through to get to him.”_

“You know what? This shit with you and Pop has got to stop. It has gone on long enough.” Thomas had been past done with it since it started when he was in high school. “He kept things about Jax from us, because he didn’t want us to grow up hating a man we would never know. He didn’t do it to hurt us.”

 _“I know that, Tommy.”_ His older brother sighed tiredly. _“It’s just hard….”_

“Hard for you to admit that you were wrong?” That was a family trait that Thomas really couldn’t fault him for. Of course, most of them got over it, bit the bullet and apologized, no matter how much it pained them to do it. “Stubborn ass. Can’t you just stow your shit for a while? Can you do that for Grandpa? He needs us Abel.”

 _“I’m at a rest stop four hours north of Beacon Hills.”_ Abel admitted, letting him know he had been on the road for some time now. _“I wasn’t gonna let Grandpa down.”_

“That’s fantastic news, bro.” Thomas felt a weight lift off his shoulders knowing his big brother would be there with him. “Are you bringing my niece and nephews or leaving them with your old lady?”

 _“Tamara bailed on me, man.”_ Tamara was Abel’s latest old lady, but thankfully he hadn’t knocked her up like the previous three. “ _It’s just me and the kids. You gonna be there before me?”_

“Yeah, if my plane is on time.” It wouldn’t take long to get to the house from the airport once they reached their final destination. “We’ll get there about a half-hour before you, depending on how many stops you make on the way.”

 _“I’ve made quite a few already. Casey’s been cranky.”_ Abel would have stopped to let the kids run around in the grass at the rest stops. _“He hates being cooped up in a car.”_

“All kids do.” He wasn’t surprised Abel’s youngest was kicking up a fuss during the long trip. “Just keep telling them they’ll be seeing their grandpas soon. That should get them all excited.”

 _“That works with J.J. and Grace, but Casey doesn’t really know them.”_ Casey had spent the least amount of time with his grandparents. _“Telling him he’ll get to see his cousins perks him up, though.”_

“They’re excited to see their cousins too.” Thomas’s gaze found his twins standing beside him. “Our plane is boarding soon. I gotta go. I’ll see you soon.”

_“See you soon, little brother.”_

* * *

 

It was a struggle for John to open his eyes when he was roused from his sleep by the sound of a door slamming open somewhere else in the house. He was the only one it seemed, Stiles was still conked out, slumped over in the chair next o his bed. It was not an unusual sight, Stiles rarely left him these days.

It felt as if his son had been glued to his side nearly every hour of the day since he was forced to tell him he was ill. It was one of the worst days of his life, watching his family’s faces crumble over his diagnoses. He’d witnessed Stiles process the information like he was being hit by a train, before he had taken a minute, gotten a hold of himself, and began taking control over the situation.

Stiles had called the doctors and read every research article he could find. He was determined to find the perfect combination of medications to ensure John lived as long as he possibly could. Unfortunately, chemotherapy and radiation only worked for so long, his remission didn’t last, and repeating the treatments again only bought him more time. That time was currently running out.

His family was more than aware that he didn’t have much time left. He was sure the wolf in Juice could smell it, if the way he was closing the ranks meant anything. Juice, like Stiles, rarely left the house unless it was absolutely necessary, and had taken it upon himself to call in family members and help John get his affairs in order. It was a burden neither of them wanted to fall on Stiles.

Stiles had enough on his plate. He had taken on John’s illness as if it were something he could fight be sheer force of will. Stiles had made himself present, had been his caregiver since the beginning, back when they still had hope for his recovery. He had given up his life so he could be there to help John through it all, and that was something that broke his heart whenever he looked at his child.

“I’m sorry, Son.” He murmured lowly, extending a hand to brush it against Stiles arm.

“Hey Gramps.” Thomas’s voice pulled his eyes to the doorway, where his youngest grandson was standing with his two oldest great-grandchildren.

“Thomas.”  He flashed them the brightest smile he could muster and spread his arms wide for the little ones. “Hi kiddos.”

Nathaniel and Joanie were old enough to be careful when they climbed onto the bed to give him hugs. They were mindful of his IV’s and other wires protruding from his body as they made space for themselves beside him. However, little Nate had the same spatial proximity issues and gangly limbs as Stiles and ended up kicking Stiles in the ribs while trying to settle in an open spot beside John, startling the other man awake.

“Sorry, Papa.” Nate leaned off the bed to wrap his arms around Stiles in big hug.

“That’s all right, buddy.” Stiles kissed his grandson’s cheek before doing a double take at John. “You’re awake. Do you need something?”

“I’m fine, Son.” He assured his boy and nodded to Joanie and Thomas. “Kids are here.”

“I see that.” Stiles grinned. “I didn’t know you guy were coming.”

“Dad called and we decided it was time for a visit.” Thomas glanced sadly in John’s direction. “Abel should be here soon.”

“Good. Good.” John had been worried his older grandson wouldn’t make the trip at all. “I’m glad you all are here.”

“We missed you Pop-Pop.” Joanie held onto him a little tighter. “I hate New York. It’s too far away. We never get to see you or grandpas anymore.”

“Well, you’re here now, sweetheart.” He pressed his lips to her temple.

“I’m hungry.” Nate complained, a rumble from his stomach complementing the declaration. “They only had peanuts on the airplane.”

“Maybe, if you ask nicely, Grandpa Juice will make you something to eat.” Stiles urged Nate off the bed. “It’s time for your Pop-Pop to eat anyway.”

“Oh, Stiles, I’m not hungry.” He said through a long yawn. “I think I’m gonna sleep for a while longer. You guys go eat.”

“You heard him. Come on, kids.” Thomas stepped out of the doorway so his children could skedaddle out it. “Pop, you look like you could use something to eat. I can stay with Gramps while you get some food.”

“I’m fine, buddy.” Stiles replied, stubbornly remaining in his chair. “You go ahead.”

* * *

 

It had been a while since Juice had to weave around children while trying to cook, but he managed not to trip over anybody while holding a knife, so he was considering that a win. He did not mind the extra bodies crowding in his kitchen, not really, not when it had been so long since the house felt so full. He never realized how much he’d missed it.

When Abel and Thomas were little, he and Stiles had counted the days until they would be out of the house, and he and Stiles would finally be free to live their lives. They had not expected to feel so dejected when they had woken up the morning of Abel’s eighteenth birthday to find that he had cleared out without even leaving a note to say goodbye. They had not expected to feel blessed, after the initial shock had worn off, when Thomas had come to them, a terrified seventeen year old, and said he had gotten his girlfriend pregnant.

After Nathaniel and Joanie’s mother had died in childbirth, leaving Thomas a single father before he even graduated high school, Juice and Stiles had promised to be there to help him as long as he needed it. They looked after the children for him while he completed high school and graduated from college. It had left a gaping hole in their hearts when Thomas had decided to take a job on the other side of the country and uprooted the children there, visiting only when the kids had vacation time from school.

Almost overnight, they had gone from having a house that reverberated with child’s laughter to one that echoed a palpable emptiness. Even after Chibs and John moved in, the place still felt wrong. None of them could fill the silence quite as well as a happy family could.

“Grandpa,” Joanie pinned herself to his side as he put the finishing touches on the sandwiches he was making. “Can Nate and I eat on the deck?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.” It would save him some clean up later.

“Are you gonna eat outside with us?” Nate asked as he grabbed a plate off the counter. “I wanna tell you about my soccer team.”

“You can tell Grandpa all about it later.” Thomas opened the back door and waved his kids out. “I’ve gotta talk to him right now.”

“Uh! Not fair!” Joanie whined as she and her twin trudged out to the deck.

“You hungry, Thomas?” Juice pulled the loaf of bread to him, prepared to fix his youngest a sandwich like he had done the kids.

“No. I’m good for now, Dad.” Thomas said as he closed the back door and moved to take a seat at the kitchen island. “Gramps seems to be in good spirits.”

“He is, I guess.” He had seen John becoming more upbeat in recent days, but he tried not to think about why that was. “Having you kids here is good for him. He really missed you. We all have.”

“We missed you guys too. The Skype chats and phone calls aren’t really cutting it.” The younger man worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Dad….”

“What is it, Son?”

“Pop looks awful.” Thomas commented woefully. “And I don’t just mean emotionally or mentally. He looks physically awful. He’s exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He’s lost so much weight. He’s skin and bone. It can’t be healthy. It’s like….”

“Like he’s wasting away with your grandfather.” Juice hadn’t failed to notice how his husband was decaying before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had tried. “I give him food and maybe he’ll eat a few bites before he’s done. He’s always tired, because he’s busy taking care of your grandfather. Even when John’s asleep, Stiles is finding a way to make him more comfortable.”

“What happened to hiring a proper caregiver?” To Thomas’s credit, there was only a minimal amount of disapproval in his tone, it was clear he wasn’t pleased that they hadn’t followed through on that after he initially suggested it. “Or an in-home nurse?”

“We tried that.” The nurse lasted all of a week, before Juice realized how hard it was for her to do her job when Stiles was trying to do it for her. “Stiles is the only person Stiles trusts to care for his father.”

“And who is taking care of him while he’s taking care of Gramps?” The ‘obviously it ain’t you’ was left unsaid, but Juice heard it all the same.

“I’m fucking trying, all right?” He snapped, slamming a palm down on the countertop.

“Hey,” Chibs appeared behind Thomas and wrapped an arm loosely around his neck in the mimic of a headlock. “You know how stubborn your Pop is. He doesn’t make it easy for anyone to take care of him.”

“I know.” Thomas acknowledged as Chibs kissed the side of his head and sat down in a stool next to him. “Sorry, Dad.”

“It’s okay.” They were all on edge, Juice could forgive his son for lashing out in regards to Stiles health. “You’re worried.”

“I’m worried about you too, Dad.” Thomas confessed. He opened his mouth to say something further when the front door swung open.

“We’re here!” Abel’s voice rang loudly through the house. The kid never did know how to do things the quiet way. “I’m gonna put our shit upstairs. The kids are coming your way.”

That was the only warning they received before the children came running at full speed in to the kitchen. Juice immediately found his arms full of his granddaughter, Grace, while the boys, J.J. and Casey, surrounded their uncles. The trio seemed happy as could be given the circumstances, making Juice wonder how much they had been told about why they were there.

“Hi Grandpa!” Grace smacked a wet sloppy kiss to his cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He hugged the girl tightly and glanced to his grandsons. “I missed all of you.”

“We was in the car for a forever, Uncle Tommy.” The youngest of the brood, Casey, told Thomas, looking incredibly put upon. “How’d you get here first? You live far away.”

“We flew here.”

“Hey, what the fuck, Dad?” Abel stomped into the kitchen, hands on his hips, staring Juice down as if he had offended him somehow. “What happened to my bedroom? It looks like an office now.”

“It is an office now.” Juice had renovated that room three years prior. “Your old room isn’t the only one that got a makeover.”

“Yeah. I noticed. Tommy’s is a freaking guest room now.” Abel fumed as if repurposing the rooms was a personal betrayal to him. “Those are _our_ rooms.”

“This may come as a shock to you, but you guys don’t actually live here anymore.” For fuck’s sake, Abel had not lived in the house for almost fifteen years and Thomas in over five.

“Why do you even need an office upstairs?” Abel questioned curtly. “That’s what the study is for.”

“We turned the study into a bedroom for your grandfather. We thought the natural light from the bay window would be good for him.” Juice knew John appreciated the view more since he had become more or less bedridden. “And Thomas’s old room is not a guest room. It’s for the grandkids. We thought they could stay in there when they came over, hence the two twin beds. It was a dumb idea on our part, seeing as we never get to see our grandchildren.”

“We’re here now, Grandpa.” Grace kissed his cheek once more before furrowing her brows. “Does that mean our play room is gone? ‘Cause we used to sleep on the couch or air mattresses up there.”

“Your playroom is still in the attic, don’t worry.” The playroom had been put together back when Abel and Thomas were still little. “But there are so many of you kids now, that we thought you’d need the extra room.”

“So why not transform the guest room down here into a kids room?” Abel asked hotly, apparently not ready to let the topic go just yet.

“That is Uncle Chibs room.” Thomas bumped he and Chibs’ shoulders together.

“Uncle Chibs’ room has always been in the basement.” Abel argued, and yeah, that was true. They renovated the basement into an apartment right after they bought the place, and Chibs had claimed it as his own once it was complete. “It was his room before he even really moved in.”

“Chibs can’t make it up and down the stairs without breaking a hip.” Juice retorted, gesturing wildly to the stairs leading to the basement. “He has to be on the main floor.”

“Hey!” Chibs squawked and tried to hide the cane he’d been using since his last tumble down the steps. “I can use the stairs just fine.”

“Of course you can.” Thomas patted Chibs hand patronizingly, and then addressed his brother. “I thought you were here to see Grandpa, not bitch about our old bedrooms.”

“I am here to see Gramps.” Abel jammed his hands in his pockets, a nervous expression flickering across his face. “Is he awake?”

“He goes in and out throughout the day.” Juice disclosed. It was hard to tell when John would be awake or asleep. “Just go on in.”

“Is, um, is Uncle Stiles with him?” Abel inquired hesitantly.

“Your _Pop_ ,” Juice narrowed his eyes at his eldest son as he stressed the correct moniker. “Is always with your grandfather.”

“Except on those rare mornings when you drag him out for a quick romp in the woods.” Chibs snickered knowingly.

“Ew.” Thomas gagged. “There are kids around, Uncle Chibs.”

“Sorry.” The smile on Chibs face refuted the apology. He wasn’t sorry at all.

“Anyway,” Juice brushed off his old friends hijinks. “Abel, go see your grandfather.”

“I can wait.” Abel claimed, looking set in his decision.

“Until he’s dead?” Juice did not enjoy putting the stricken expression on his kid’s face, but if it got his point across, he wouldn’t apologize for it. “That is the only way Stiles is leaving his side. So suck it up and go in there or go home.”

“I don’t want to go home.” Abel’s oldest, J.J., groused at Chibs side. “I wanna see Papa and Pop-Pop.”

“We talked about this crap a month ago, Abel.” Chibs grumbled to the kid. “Do we gotta go over it again?”

“I talked to him about it _today_.” Thomas told the Scot. “He said he understood and would put a cork in it for the time being.”

“I do understand. Fuck.” Abel spoke over his uncle and brother. “My head gets it. It’s just taking my heart a little while to catch up.”

“You need to look past that now and go see your grandfather.” Juice normally wouldn’t push his boys to do something, but John didn’t have time for them to pussy foot around. “You can ignore Stiles if you want, but I hope you won’t. You are both going to need to each other after your grandfather…. You just need to see your grandpa, Abel.”

“Okay. I will.” Abel swallowed thickly. “I am. I’m gonna go see him now. Kids, I want you to give me a few minutes with him, all right?”

“Okay, daddy.”

“Oh, and son,” Juice waited until he had Abel’s full attention to continue. “Thank you for not wearing your kutte.”

When Abel had run away from home, he had run straight to Charming, looking to pick up where Jax left off, but SAMCRO wouldn’t have him. Those remaining from Jax’s time with the club refused to allow him to patch-in out of respect for their former president’s wishes that his sons never know the club’s life of violence. The Sons of Anarchy’s Tacoma charter, however, did not receive that memo and had let him prospect and patch-in without restrictions. They gave him a new home.

The first time Juice and Stiles had seen him in his kutte, with top rockers and a Men of Mayhem patch, Juice could have sworn he saw a piece of Stiles heart shatter right before his eyes. They realized that day that they had done something terribly wrong in their parenting of Abel. They thought they had done everything possible to keep Abel and Thomas from repeating Jax’s mistakes, yet somehow it wasn’t enough.

“No problem.” Abel shrugged as if t were no big deal. “I didn’t want to cause anymore problems or raise anyone’s blood pressure.”

“I appreciate that.” That was a very mature and adult decision that Juice had not expected his son to make. “Go on back, your grandpa’s been waiting for you.”

* * *

 

The hallway to what used to be the study seemed longer than Abel remembered it being. He dragged his feet the whole way down the dark corridor. He took a calming breath as he pushed the already ajar door open the rest of the way.

His grandfather was fast asleep, blankets pulled up high on his chest. There was a grayish washed out tone to his skin that made him appear ghostlike. He had IV’s attached to his arms and a nose cannula. Abel was sure the IVs were filled with a cocktail of painkillers and anti-nausea meds, anything to keep the older man comfortable, while the tubes were in place to deliver more oxygen to him.

Stiles was curled up in an old arm chair next to the bed, knees drawn to his chest, elbow resting on the bed, chin propped up on his hand. It struck Abel how terrible Stiles looked, almost worse than Grandpa John. He was sickly and gaunt, and there were large bags beneath his once bright eyes. Abel had never seen him appear so lifeless.

“Abel,” Stiles lifted his gaze to meet his. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it or if you would come at all.”

“I came to see Grandpa.” If he had been called home for any other reason, he wouldn’t have made the trip.

“I know.” Stiles reached out to adjust an IV in John’s arm. “He’ll be happy to see you. He’s missed you. I-I’ve missed you.”

Abel wasn’t sure how to properly respond to that. On one hand, the part of him that was still angry and confused wanted to snap, say ‘yeah, right.’ On the other hand, the lost son in him wanted to tell Stiles how he had missed him to, because, fuck, he really had.

“Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to say it back.” Stiles confessed sadly, dropping his gaze back to the bed. “I just wanted you to know that I did. I do. I miss you, son.”

“Pop, I….” He, what, was sorry? He was sorry for being a pain the ass. He was sorry for jumping from one wrong conclusion to another while willfully ignoring the facts laid out in front of him. “Chibs, um, he spoke to me about my da- about Jax. I’m still trying to let it all sink in, I guess.”

“I don’t know what Chibs told you about Jackson. With the club, he is either the devil or the messiah, depending on how much they’ve had to drink. Maybe who Jax was doesn’t even matter anymore. But b-before you make anymore assumptions about him,” Stiles dull eyes met his once more. “You should know that the last thing he thought about was you and your brother.”

“Pop, don’t.” Abel could not and would not listen to anymore lies about Jax.

The lies were why Abel had stayed away, even after Chibs had told him all the horrifying things Jax had done. His entire life, Stiles had painted a false picture of Jax in his mind. He made Abel and Thomas believe Jax was someone good, kind, and caring, who had not let the hand life dealt him keep him from having a sense of morals. That was the version of Jax that Abel longed to know, who he had gone searching for, who Abel had believed Stiles let die on that highway twenty-six years ago.

“That day on 580, Jackson asked me to keep you and Thomas safe. He wanted me to save you from becoming what he was.” Stiles eyes shined with unshed tears. “I failed, I know that. I failed him and I failed you.”

Abel couldn’t help but flinch at Stiles words. He knew the failure was him, and it was his fault alone. It was nothing anyone else should apologize for.

“It doesn’t matter how it all turned out, who Jax was or who you thought he was. It shouldn’t matter.” Stiles breath hitched as he spoke. “Abel, his last thoughts were for your and Thomas’s wellbeing. That has to count for something.”

There were so many questions whirring in his mind, but Abel could only manage to nod. He was at a loss of how to react, and thankfully, he was saved from having to when small hands pushed him out of the doorway. His three children were a blur as they rushed past him and over to their grandfather.

The kids all piled on top of Stiles, a tight fit in his current position. They peppered his face with enthusiastic kisses, declaring how much they missed him. Stiles lit up in the children’s presence, instantly relaxing and grinning widely, looking years younger than he had only moments ago.

It was a beautiful sight that Abel found his glance straying from when a wrinkled hand gripped his. He gaze tracked the hand to its owners face, finding his grandfather’s pale blue eyes staring back at him.

“Hey Gramps.” He smiled and dragged a nearby chair over so he could sit beside him. “How you feeling?”

“Good. I’m good.” A part of him wanted to call bullshit on his grandfather’s assessment of his current condition, he didn’t know how anyone at deaths door could be anywhere near good. “Now that I’ve got my family all under one roof again. Being terminally ill has its perks, I guess.”

“Grandpa, don’t say things like that.” Abel felt guilty enough for not visiting more since his grandfather had been sick.

“I intend to make this c-count, Abel. I-I want you to look over there f-for me.” John guided his gaze back to Stiles and the children. “That is our family, your family.”

“I know that.”

“That is one of the men who raised you. That is your father.” John said gruffly as he gave his hand a firm squeeze. “He raised you when Jax, Tara, and Wendy couldn’t. He loves you, no matter what choices you’ve made. He will never turn you away if you decide to come home.”

“I know.” He had always known that and it might have been one of the reasons it was so easy to be angry at Stiles. He knew he could be the worst kind of son and Stiles and Juice would never turn him away.

“It is my dying wish to see you and Stiles make up.” His grandfather announced with a look on his face that said he was aware he was being unfair, but he was entirely serious about the request. “You’re not gonna deny an old man his final wish, are you?”

The implications of a _dying_ wish, of a _final_ wish, hit him like a ton of bricks straight to the gut. The impact had him doubling-over, collapsing into a fit of tears against on his grandfather’s bed. He buried his head in the blankets at the old man’s side and clutched his hand desperately.

* * *

 

John gripped his fingers around his grandson’s hand and ran the other in soothing circles on his back. He caught Stiles movement out of the corner of his eye. His son seemed startled by Abel’s cries, he jerked out of his chair, ready to shuffle over and console his son.

“No, no.” He shook his head to keep Stiles from coming closer. “He needs this. Gotta let him go through it.”

Stiles seemed to accept that but didn’t return to his chair, instead choosing to stand vigil at his bedside, worried eyes locked on Abel’s tremoring form. He could see the longing on Stiles face, the need to comfort his wailing child was so strong that he was practically vibrating with it. With his focus solely on Abel, and Stiles didn’t seem to notice his other son appear in the doorway.

“Jesus.” Thomas exclaimed as he traipsed into the room. “From the sounds coming out of here, I thought you’d gone and died on us, Gramps.”

“Not yet.” John chuckled while Stiles and Abel shot the younger man identical glares.

“You played the last wishes card, huh?” Thomas motioned toward his big brother. “I can respect that if it gets the job done. You got one for me?”

“Stop being such a smart ass.” John ordered jokingly. “That is my wish for you.”

“Aw-shucks,” Thomas dipped his head and smiled shyly, trying to appear bashful and falling short. “That is the one wish I can’t grant. Sorry, Gramps.”

“Yeah. You sound real sorry.”

“Anyway,” Thomas swung his gaze to the children at his father’s side. “Grandpa Juice made you guys sandwiches. Go grab them and you can eat in the backyard with your cousins.”

“Papa,” Casey pulled on Stiles pant leg. “You come with us?”

“Oh, buddy,” Stiles frowned regretfully as he glanced down at the boy. “I’m gonna stay here-“

“Go on, Stiles.” John instructed, knowing his son needed to get out of the room for a while, and spending time with the little ones would do him some good. “Have some lunch with your grandbabies. I want to speak to Thomas alone, please.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Stiles leaned over and placed a kiss to his temple. “Call for me if you need anything.”

“I know, son.” His boy was always there to help him when he needed it.

John waited for Stiles, Abel, and his great-grandkids were out of the room before turning his attention to Thomas. The playful and optimistic façade on the younger man’s face had be wiped away and replaced by something solemn and subdued.

“Come sit down, Thomas.” He gestured to the two vacant chairs. “I wanna talk to you, kiddo.”

“Um, I’d rather stand and have the option to pace anxiously, if you don’t mind.” The kid shifted awkwardly on his feet, eyes darting to the door as if he might bolt at any moment. “Dad is making you some soup. He was gonna bring it in when it’s done.”

“Okay.” John would give him credit for the poor attempt at deflection. “We still have time to talk.”

“Is this a dying wish thing?”

“Look after the family for me, Thomas, okay? I want you to look in on your dads from time to time.” John’s son and son-in-law always got so caught up taking care of everyone else, they often forgot to take care of themselves. “And don’t worry too much about your brother. He’ll come around, he just needs to find his own way. Check in on him and the kids once in a while too. You have no idea how many times J.J. and Gracie have called here to talk to their grandpas because they’re scared or lonely.”

“I’ll look in on all of them, Gramps, you know I will.” Thomas vowed with such conviction that John truly believed that was a promise he would always keep.

“I’m not saying give up your life and try to take care of everyone. You gotta take care of yourself too.” He knew Thomas was the one with a good head on his shoulders, who knew how much he could handle before he buckled under the pressure. “I mean that, Thomas, you gotta take care of yourself, so you can be there for your kids when they’re all grown up.”

“I will.” He croaked, folding his arms over his chest and hunching over slightly.

“Just be good, Thomas. Okay? Be happy.” And that, that was his honest to God dying wish for his entire family. “That is all I want for all of you. Just be happy.”

“We’re gonna be really sad for a long time,” Thomas admitted, tears streaming down his cheek. “But we’ll be happy again one day.”

“Good.” He grinned approvingly. “Will you do something else for me?”

“Anything.”

“Tell your father to stop lurking outside the door.”

“I wasn’t lurking. I don’t lurk.” Juice huffed as he stepped into the room holding a tray of food. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“We’re done for now.” He assured his son-in-law that he wasn’t interrupting anything. “Thomas, why don’t you go spend some time with your Pop?”

“Okay.” Thomas didn’t waste any time after being given an out, dashing from the room like his ass was on fire.

“Where’s Stiles?” John asked as Juice settled into the chair beside his bed, resting the tray on his knees.

“Casey is feeding him, and I mean that literally. He’s tearing a sandwich into pieces and putting them in Stiles mouth.” Juice snorted. “Stiles said he wasn’t hungry and Abel made a comment about how much weight he had lost. Casey was not going to let him get away with missing a meal.”

“Casey’s a good boy.” He was glad someone could get Stiles to eat. John couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his son finish a meal. “I’m gonna have to take Stiles lead here, though. I’m not hungry, but I do appreciate you making that for me.”

“You don’t even want to try a little?” Juice held the tray out hopefully.

“No, thank you.” He hated disappointing him, but he had lost his appetite long ago. “And thank you for getting the boys here. I waited as long as I could to spare them from dwelling on it too long.”

“You’ve been making the rounds with them, telling them everything you want them to know.” Juice noted thoughtfully. “Is there one of those conversations in my future?”

“We’re having it now, son.”

“Oh good,” Juice laughed mirthlessly. “And here I thought I would be left out.”

“Never.” John wouldn’t leave this world without saying what he needed to, to _every_ member of his family. “You’re my boy, Juan Carlos, just as much as Stiles is. You should know that by now.”

“I do.”

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure about you when Stiles told me you two were together.” He took Juice’s left hand in his, running his fingers over the wedding band that had been sitting there for well over twenty years. “It didn’t take me long to see you were good for each other, that you loved each other very much.”

“We still do.” Juice gazed down at his ring. “We always will.”

“There is no one I trust more with Stiles than you.” If someone had told him, when Stiles and Juice had begun seeing each other, that he would be uttering those words, he probably would have laughed in their face. “You’ve grown a lot, more than anybody, I think, in all these years.”

“Well, I should hope so.” Juice’s voice was tinged with self-deprecation.

“You’re not that kid who couldn’t be alone, who was afraid to be left alone.” John had witnessed how far Juice had come from being that frightened and nervous young man. “You know how to stand on your own two feet now. You’re comfortable with yourself. You’re not as afraid of the future as you once were.”

There were a few rough patches over the years, when the claustrophobia of domestic life had become too much for Juice and Stiles to handle. Those first few years were the worst, when they were just learning how to be still. It all leveled out over time, they relaxed into their roles as husbands and fathers. They made the best out of the circumstances they were given and became stronger for it, Juice more than anyone.

“I think part of that is because you know you will never be alone again.” He had felt the same way, gone through the same change, after Stiles was born and he found himself with a family again after being on his own for so long. “You don’t just have Stiles or Chibs. You’ve got children and grandchildren. They all need you, even the ones who act like they don’t.”

“I never thought I would live long enough to have kids. To be honest, I never really wanted any. I didn’t think I had anything to offer a child.” Juice got a far off look in his eye as he gathered his thoughts. “I know Stiles felt the same way. But, you know, neither of us regret a moment we’ve spent being parents to Abel and Thomas. It’s been…an experience, to say the least, one we wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.”

“I think the same thing when I look at Stiles. Being his dad has been trying at times, but it has also been the most wonderful experience of my life.” Every day he spent with his son was a beautiful gift. “I feel the same way about you, Juice. I-I’ve been proud to have you as a son all these years.”

“I spent a long time searching for a dad. My biological father fucked off before I was born. My stepdad tried, he really did, but as I got older, it got harder for him to forget that I wasn’t actually his kid. And then there was Clay….” And they both knew how that turned out. “I was a little wary of looking at you that way, given my past experience in the area. I was afraid of how it would turn out.”

“I think it turned out pretty good, don’t you?” He hoped Juice felt the same way. He had tried to give his son-in-law the same care he had shown his own son.

“You are the only dad I’ve ever had that has never made me earn your love or affection. You accepted me without restrictions or strings attached.” Juice sniffled and swiped his knuckles beneath his eyes. “I don’t think I ever really knew what it felt like to be loved unconditionally by a father, until you decided to take me on as your own after I married Stiles. I’ve never thanked you for that.”

“That is not something you ever have to thank me for.”

“I-I want you to know that I love you. You and I don’t say that to each other very often, but I do.” Juice’s voice quivered with emotion. “And I’m not ready for this. Stiles isn’t either. He’ll never be ready to lose you.”

“After Claudia died, I told Stiles that even though Claudia’s body was in the ground, she would always be with us, because the love she felt for us didn’t die with her.” It was something eight-year-old Stiles had grasped like a lifeline, needing to keep a piece of his mother with him. “I meant it then and I mean it now. I’m going to die, but I will always be with you, Juan Carlos, just like I will always be with Stiles. I promise you that. Do you understand?”

“Y-Yes.” Juice sniveled, biting the side of his cheek in an effort to keep himself in check.

“You can smell it on me, can’t you?” John asked suddenly. “Using your werewolf senses, you can smell it?”

“Yes.” The younger man murmured tightly, as if the words were being forced from his throat. “The scent has been lingering with you for a while now.”

“I’m not talking about the cancer.”

“Neither am I.”

* * *

 

“And they lived happily ever after.” Stiles drawled sarcastically as he snapped the book closed. “The end.”

“Another one!” Grace crowed directly into his ear from her place next to him on the attic sofa.

“No!” Nathaniel, Joanie, and J.J. all groaned in unison, opting out of another story.

“I have read you three bedtime stories already.” Stiles kissed the top of his granddaughters head. “Now, it is actually time for bed.”

“Uh!” Grace fell back against the couch cushions dramatically.

“Where are we all sleeping, Papa?” J.J. questioned with a yawn.

“Well, you three boys can sleep up here.” The playroom had a couch that would fit one of them, and the other two could share the air mattress. “You girls can take the twin beds in Thomas’s old room.”

“Where are Dad and Uncle Abel gonna sleep?” Joanie asked as she stood up and took Grace’s hand to help her off the sofa.

“That’s a good question.” He supposed that was something he would have to figure out. “I’ll go sort that out. You guys get ready for bed. Grandpa Juice will come tuck you all in.”

Stiles took the time to give each of his grandchildren hugs and kisses goodnight before heading down the steps to the second floor. He passed Juice in the hall and paused to give him a quick peck on the lips. Juice muttered something barely intelligible about their sons being ridiculous as they both continued on their way, Juice to the attic, and Stiles down the last set of stairs. It was only once he reached the main floor that he saw what his husband had meant.

Abel and Thomas were bickering in the living room. They were in each other’s faces, pointing accusing fingers at one another. They looked about ready to come to blows if someone did not step in.

“What is going on here?” He had to shout to be heard over the boys.

“I called dibs on the couch.” Thomas told him as he bodily blocked his brother from trying to lie down on said sofa. “He keeps trying to take it.”

“I’m not sleeping on the damn floor. I spent all day stuck in a car, you got to fly on a cushy plane.” Abel stomped his foot like a child. “And I’m older. I get first dibs on everything.”

“Why? Because you were expelled from the womb first?” Thomas scoffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Expelled from the womb….” Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face. “Did you two know that when we moved Chibs to the main floor, the apartment downstairs remained intact? It’s got a bed and everything.”

“Mine!” Thomas screeched, lunging over the coffee table to put distance between he and Abel.

“No! It’s mine!” Abel tripped over his own feet as he made a grab for his brother. “You said you wanted the couch!”

“I changed my mind!”

Stiles could barely contain his amusement as his two _adult_ children pushed and shoved at each other as they made their way through the kitchen to the basement door. He followed a few feet behind and heard the exact moment they lost their footing on the stairs. He flinched sympathetically at the _clang_ and _boom_ as they hit the floor below.

“You guys all right?” Stiles peered down the steps to spy the heap they had landed in.

“I’m good.” Thomas gave him a thumbs up even as he hissed in pain. “Abel broke my fall.”

“You’re welcome.” Abel grunted and shoved his brother off him. “I’m gonna have a nice bruise on my tailbone.”

“There are ice packs in the freezer. As long as no one is seriously injured, I’m gonna head off.” He jerked a thumb to the hall. “I’ll be in with your grandfather. If you need anything, ask your dad. Okay?”

The echoes of ‘okay’ and ‘night, pops’ trailed him through the kitchen. He smiled softly to himself at his boys’ antics as he wandered down the hall to his father’s room. He was pleasantly surprised to find the old man still awake.

“Before you sit down,” His father held up a hand to stop him. “Will you get something for me, please?”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“In your mother’s jewelry box,” His father motioned toward the small box on the dresser. “My wedding band. I-I’d like to wear it.”

Stiles lifted the lid to the antique box delicately. His father’s ring sat in the same place it had for the last twenty-years. He took the ring into hand and inspected the inscription, just in case, on the off chance, it had changed at some point, although he knew it hadn’t. The inside of the ring still held the same words it always had: _‘You are infuriating. Love, Claudia.’_

“Your mother’s ring, I had it inscribed with: _'You’re a little strange. Love, John.’_ ” His father chortled as he recalled the story he told Stiles every time the inscription caught his eye. “It was our inside joke. S-She would tell me I was infuriating, but she’d say it like it was a compliment, her lips would be quirked up in a little smile. I would reply by telling her she was a little strange, and she really was.”

“I know, Pop.” _Infuriating_ and _Strange_ had been his parent’s pet names for one another.

“I-I loved that about h-her.” The old man professed as he took the ring and slipped it onto his finger. “Her uniqueness, I loved that about her.”

“So did I.” His mother’s offbeat nature had drawn them both to her.

“She would have been so proud of you.” His father patted a place on the bed beside him, beckoning him over and Stiles obliged, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. “She’d be just as proud as I am of the man you’ve become.”

“I’ve been neglecting my husband, and my oldest son has spent over a decade hating my guts.” He wasn’t much to be proud of. “And I know I’m not winning any son of the year awards.”

“Stop that.” His dad reached up to pop him lightly on the side of the head. “You have never been a bad son. I have never thought of you that way. Since the day you were born, you have been the most important person in my life. I have been honored, truly honored, to be your father.”

“Dad….”  This was the beginning of a goodbye speech, Stiles could see that, and he didn’t want to hear it. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I’ve always admired your strength, Stiles, your resilience. Ever since you were a toddler learning to walk, you’ve had this inability to stay down when you fell or were knocked down.” The old man cupped a hand to his cheek. “You always got back up, every single time. You have always beaten the odds.”

“I get that from you.” He learned to keep going, even when he didn’t want to or think he could, by watching his dad do the exact same thing. “I can’t do that without you, Pop. You’ve always been my strength. You can’t leave me now, I wouldn’t survive it. I can’t survive without you.”

“Life hasn’t been kind to you, Stiles, I know. You have been put through more than your fair share of pain, and you’ve lost so many people already, but please, don’t make me feel guilty about this. Please.” His father pleaded. “There is going to come a day, in the very distant future, when you are just going to wanna lie down and rest. You wouldn’t want your boys to make you feel guilty about that, would you?”

“Rest?” Is that what they were calling it now?

“I’m so tired, Stiles. It’s not just my illness wearing on me. It’s….” He caressed a thumb over Stiles cheek absently as he struggled to find the right words. “I’ve lived a long life. I loved and lost an amazing woman. I’ve raised a beautiful son. I’ve been blessed with a wonderful son-in-law, grandsons, and great-grandchildren. It’s more than I ever could have asked for out of life.”

“We still need you, Dad.” He couldn’t imagine a time when he wouldn’t need his father. "I-I still need you."

“I know you weren’t happy with the decision I made to stop treatment when it wasn’t working as well should have been.” His father’s hand on his face prevented him from bowing his head in shame. “I’m gonna be straight with you, okay? The chemo might have bought me a few more months, but I don’t have that in me. I’m so tired, Stiles, and I just….”

“It’s okay, Daddy.” Stiles hushed him, moving the hand on his cheek down to rest on the bed. “It’s okay. You can rest now.”

“I love you more than anything in this world, Son. I always have.”

“I love you too.” He smoothed his fingers gently through his father’s hair. “Just rest, Dad. It’s okay. Just rest.”

* * *

 

Juice had come to terms with certain aspects of being a werewolf over the years. He could smell every little odor in the surrounding area, he could see much further than he would ever need to, and he was pretty sure he could hear grass grow if he tried hard enough. Sometime those traits came in handy, while most of the time they were more of a nuisance. There were times, like now for instance, when they were the most aggravating thing on the planet.

His wolfy senses alerting him to something amiss in his house was something he should have been thankful for, but he did not appreciate being woken up by it in the middle of the night. He tossed the blankets off his body and pulled himself out of bed. He thundered down one set of stairs, passed the kitchen, and into the basement, where the sounds of the fighting that his werewolf hearing had picked up on, had originated from.

He found his sons wrestling on the floor. Thomas was on his belly, fighting uselessly against his big brother who had him pinned and locked in a chokehold.

“Jesus Christ.” Juice flicked the light switch on, momentarily blinding the kids. “Did you two regress into five year olds while the rest of us slept?”

“No.” They answered together with matching irritable tones.

“Abel, let your brother go. Now.” He ordered a little harsher than necessary, but fuck if he cared given the late hour. “And tell me what the hell is going on down here.”

“He called dibs on the couch, so I took the bed.” Abel reported as he released his brother. “He doesn’t think it’s fair and keeps trying to take the bed.”

“It’s not fair. When I called dibs on the couch, the bed wasn’t even an option.” Thomas argued petulantly.

“Simple solution, you share the bed. You share the bed or you both sleep on the floor. And, no, it is not up for discussion or debate.” Juice had not had enough sleep to deal with this childish crap. “No more fighting while the rest of us are trying to sleep. I catch you doing it again, and I’ll put you both in the corner for a time-out.”

“Dude, I’m thirty-two, he’s twenty-eight.” Abel said as if their ages meant anything. “You can’t put us in a time out.”

“Try me.” He challenged.

He turned on his heels and stalked up the stairs, not giving them a chance to bitch about it further. He was thinking about returning to his own room and falling into bed when he felt an undeniable pull to Stiles. He started down the hallway to the old study, with the intent to do a quick check-in with his husband before making his way back to the bed they were supposed to share.

The door was wide open, offering him a full view of the dimly lit room. Stiles was in his usual spot, curled up in the armchair next to John’s bed. There was something off about him this time, though, something different about the whole room. It took Juice a moment to figure out why it all felt so still. He bit back the sob stuck in his throat when he realized he could only hear one heartbeat other than his own.

He kept his footsteps light and cautious as he rounded the bed to make it to his husband’s side. He crouched down in front of the chair, placing a comforting hand on Stiles knee.

“Just a little longer, please.” Stiles begged him. His face glistened with wet tears and his eyes remained pinned on his father’s still form. “Just let me stay with him a little while longer.”

“Okay.” He agreed, resting his head against Stiles knee. “We’ll stay with him a little longer.”

“He’s resting now. I-I told him it was okay.” Stiles whimpered, his body beginning to tremble from the emotional turmoil raging inside of him. “I j-just need a little while longer.”

“We’ll stay a little while longer.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warning: Funeral (does that require a warning?)  
> So for John's service, I did some research about Veteran funeral's and the impression I got was that as long as you were a member of the military for a certain amount of time and were honorably or medically discharged (anything other than dishonorably discharged), then you were entitled to a Veteran's funeral. I did not find a limit or time constraint that claimed after so many years you became ineligible for that. Obviously it'd been some time since John was honorably discharged, so if I got that wrong my apologies. 
> 
> Random tidbit: I didn't choose the Stiles and Juice's grandkids names at random. Abel named his children for the deceased/missing family members he had longed for a connection to, while Thomas honored the family that raised him.
> 
> Abel's Children: Jackson John 'J.J.' (for Jax & John Teller and/or Stilinski), Grace (as in Tara *Grace), and Casey (Wendy *Case).
> 
> Thomas's Children: Nathaniel (Stiles birth name), Joan (Juice and John. Joan is the feminine form of John, Stilinski's name, and Juan is the Spanish form of John).

The bags beneath Stiles eyes had not receded in the short few days it had been since John’s death, if anything, they had become more prominent. The once pale pink rings painting the rims of his lids were now a deep shade of auburn. Juice traced one with his fingertip, as if a gentle touch could make them disappear, though he knew that was wishful thinking.

Stiles could sleep for days and wake up looking just as exhausted as he had when he first lay down. Juice had urged him to rest more often than not since John’s body had been taken away. Stiles hadn’t fought him, he’d crawled into bed, into Juice’s arms, and just slept. He didn’t cry or weep, he didn’t even speak, he just closed his eyes and drifted into oblivion.

Truth be told, Stiles had been adrift for a while, perhaps they both had. John’s illness had kept them in limbo for so long, neither of them were quite sure how to proceed without it hanging over their heads like a black cloud. It was possible they weren’t ready to proceed, to move on and accept that John was really gone. It was easier to remain in limbo.

“Dad?” His youngest son’s voice sounded from the doorway.

“What is it, Thomas?” Juice was mildly surprised to find him there. Up until now, the boys had been kind enough to leave he and Stiles be, to let them hideaway in their bedroom for as long as they needed.

“I made breakfast.” The younger man motioned to the general direction of the kitchen. “You both need to get up and eat. Why don’t you come downstairs?”

“In a little while.” He turned his back on his son, plastering himself to Stiles side.

“Dad, the funeral is today.” Thomas announced cautiously. “It’s in two hours. You guys have to get up.”

“We will be downstairs in a little while.” The clock on the nightstand read 10:00a.m., they still had plenty of time. “We need to brush our teeth and get ourselves together.”

“I’ll put the food in the microwave for you.”

“Thanks.”

Juice turned his attention to his husband once it was just the two of them again. He caressed his knuckles over Stiles cheek, a silent bid for him to wake. The younger man didn’t disappoint, his eyes flickering open slowly to meet his.

“Morning.” He murmured softly. “Let’s go take a shower.”

Stiles gave him the barest nod in response, but made no move to do as he requested. Juice climbed out of bed and held out a hand, relief flooding him when Stiles took it and let Juice help him to his feet. Stiles was the closest to pliant Juice had ever seen him as he allowed Juice to lead him to the adjoining bathroom, to strip him out of his pajamas and nudge him into the shower stall.

Stiles moved into Juice’s space as the water coursed over them. He looped his arms around Juice’s neck and burrowed his head in the crook of his shoulder. Juice curled his arms around his husband’s waist and pressed his lips to the top of his head.

“I hate when you go quiet like this.” Juice stroked a soothing hand down his husband’s back. “It makes me nervous.”

“You’ve been quiet too.” Stiles countered dully. “I guess I don’t have anything to say.”

“Me neither.” The two of them hadn’t really spoken to anyone, even each other, since they had told the children John had passed away. “You know, we can’t stay in bed forever.”

“I know.” Stiles sighed, his hot breath cascading over Juice’s throat. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now. I mean, I know I’m supposed to be strong for the kids, to help them cope or whatever, but I’m…I’m just not sure how to do that.”

“Stiles, you were stronger than you ever had to be when Abel and Thomas lost Jax and Tara.” To this day, Juice wasn’t sure how Stiles had kept it together for those boys. “You don’t have to be strong for them, not this time. It’s their turn to be strong for you.”

“For us.” Stiles corrected, gripping him a little tighter. “It d-doesn’t feel right, making them take care of us.”

“That’s ‘cause you are a control freak who believes he has to take care of everyone all the time.” Juice quipped halfheartedly, earning a light kick to the shin. “Ow. Look, all I’m saying is that it doesn’t have to be that way. Loosen the reins a bit. You don’t have to carry the weight of our family’s grief all on your own.”

“I’ll try.” That was best he could hope for. “I-I thought I would know how to do this, that I would at least be somewhat prepared f-for the…for all of it.”

“You can never be prepared for it.” Juice was learning that the hard way through all this.

“I’ve done this before. I should have known what to expect.” Stiles voice quivered as he spoke. “But I feel…I feel just as lost now as I did when I lost my mom.”

“I don’t…I’m not sure what to do, Stiles. I don’t know what to say.” He was just as lost as his husband was with all of it. “I’m not sure how to help you through this.”

“You’re doing it. You’ve been doing it.” Stiles assured him, placing a kiss to his bare shoulder. “You stayed with me. You haven’t left my side. You have no idea how much I need that, you, to just be here.”

“I don’t plan to leave you, for any amount of time, anytime soon, or ever, really.” He needed the close contact as much as Stiles did. “I mean, realistically, we will have to be apart for small amounts of time, to do certain things, like go to the bathroom or run errands-“

“You’re starting to ramble and that’s kinda my thing.” Stiles lifted his head to level Juice with a look of concern. “I haven’t asked yet, and I should have, I’m sorry I haven’t, but are you okay?”

“Um,” It was hard for him to determine how he was feeling when his focus had been so much on Stiles wellbeing. “I’m not anywhere near good or okay, but I’m not doing any worse than you are.”

“I set a pretty low bar.” Stiles grumbled, tucking his head beneath Juice’s chin. “Do you think we’ll be okay? I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”

“Did you feel that way after your mom died?”

“Yes.” No doubt he felt the same way after losing Jax as well. “I don’t know if it got better or if I just got used to it, but…”

“But?”

“It’s different this time. I’ve lost friends, two sister-in-laws, my brothers, my mom….” Stiles breath hitched as he tried to keep control of his emotions. “Through all that, I had my dad. I always knew he was the one person I couldn’t lose. I wouldn’t make it past that. I wouldn’t survive it.”

“You have to.” Juice wouldn’t accept anything less.

“I don’t know if I can.”

* * *

 

Stiles forced himself out of the shower after letting his husband wash his hair. He tied a towel around his waist and stood in front of the sink, swiping a hand over the condensation on the mirror. He cringed at his unsightly appearance as he picked up the pillbox off the counter.

His eyes darted nervously toward the shower when he noticed how full the container was. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken his pills, and from the looks of things, he had been doing it sporadically. Only two out of the seven-day slots were empty, Sunday and Tuesday.

“Shit.” He cursed himself as he dumped the contents from Friday’s slot into his palm.

He brought his hand up to his mouth, prepared to knock the meds back dry, when a movement in the mirror caught his eye. He glanced up for a clearer view and jerked back wildly, spilling his pills into the sink. His breath stuck in his throat when he saw what, or rather _who_ was looking back at him.

“Jackson.” He whispered to the reflection standing next to his in the mirror.

It wasn’t the first time he had seen his brother since he had died. In fact, it was a regular occurrence over the years. Anytime he happened to feel as if he were drowning, his big brother would appear to keep his head above water.

“Stiles?” Juice startled him with a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Uh,” He clenched his eyes shut and gave his head a good shake, opening them again to find only he and Juice’s reflections in the mirror. “Y-Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“We should get downstairs before the kids come looking for us.” He deflected the question in favor of returning to the bedroom. He was thankful when Juice didn’t push the subject, he honestly had no idea what to say if he had.

They ignored their funeral suits hanging in the closet, not yet ready to dress for the dead. They didn’t trade a single word as they pulled on their usual jeans and a t-shirts, choosing to dress in silence. Once they were decent, Juice slipped his hand into his, squeezing it comfortingly, before they headed out of the room and down the stairs.

Abel and Thomas were seated at the kitchen island, chatting amongst themselves, heads ducked over a notebook, phones lying discarded beside them. The boys noticed them the moment they entered the room, their postures shifting until they were sitting up straight, as if they were soldiers awaiting orders.

“Your food is in the microwave.” Thomas stated as he stood from his stool. “I’ll heat it up for you.”

“Just one plate,” Stiles instructed when he spotted a child’s form through the doors leading to the backyard in his peripheral vision. “I’m not hungry.”

He didn’t give his sons or husband a change to argue with him. He trudged out the door and down the deck, to the yard where the little boy was sitting cross-legged in the grass, coloring supplies scattered around him.

“Casey,” Stiles swept his fingers through his grandson’s hair. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

“I’m drawing a picture for Pop-Pop.” The boy held the picture out to him. “Uncle Chibs said we could put it in his casket, so it can be with him forever.”

“We can do that.” He agreed, dropping to the ground beside the boy.

“Uncle Chibs said you did that for Opie.” Casey mentioned as he continued coloring his picture. “Papa, who was Opie?”

“He was my brother.”

“He was?” Casey’s blue eyes went wide. “I didn’t know you had a brother, Papa.”

“I had three.” He was shocked that Abel had not shared that with the children, assuming he would have at least told them about Jackson at some point. “Jax, Opie, and Thomas.”

“Thomas? Like Uncle Tommy?”

“Your Uncle Tommy was named after my brother Thomas.”

“Where are you brothers now, Papa?” Casey asked curiously. “How come I never met them? How come they don’t come over?”

“They’re, um, they’re gone now.” Some had been gone longer than others and one before he even had a chance to know him. “They died.”

“Like Pop-Pop?” Casey’s eyes filled with tears of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

“C-Can I draw with you?” He plucked the purple crayon out of the box. “I’d like to make something for my dad.”

“I got lots of paper.” The boy shoved a handful of blank sheets at him. “There you go, Papa.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Papa?” Casey scooted over until he was smacked right up against Stiles side.

“Yeah?”

“Daddy said…” He worried his bottom lip anxiously between his teeth. “He said Pop-Pop wasn’t coming back.”

“That’s right.” Stiles watched his grandson out of the corner of his eye, unsure of how he would react.

“I don’t like that.” Casey threw his crayons to the grass and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t want him to be gone. I want him to come back!”

“So do I.”

* * *

 

Juice observed Stiles interaction with their grandson through the kitchen window. When Casey crawled into Stiles lap and let his Papa wrap him in a fierce hug, he wanted nothing more than to go out there and comfort them both. Against his better judgment, he stayed where he was, if only to keep from intruding on a private moment.

“Hey Dad,” Abel’s hesitant voice pulled his concentration from Stiles and Casey to his sons. “People have been calling the last couple days.”

“Okay.” Condolence calls were to be expected under the circumstances. “Anyone important?”

“Uncle Felix and Aunt Kerri called, but Chibs handled that.” Thomas informed him. “Aunt Marisol, Aunt Marianna, and Nana Antonia wanted to see how you and Pop were holding up. They wanted me to tell you that they loved you and that you can call at anytime if you need to talk.”

“I’ll call them back later.” He didn’t feel much like talking at the moment.

“A couple of Pop’s old friends called, Derek, Malia, Liam, and Scott.” Abel read the list off his notepad. “Liam wanted to apologize for not being able to make it to the service. His and Mason’s flight got canceled last minute. Scott and his mom wanted to come by early-“

“No.” Juice shook his head. “Stiles isn’t up for that.”

“Which is exactly what I told them.” Abel remarked. “They can see Pop at the funeral and wake.”

“Where are the kids?” Juice asked suddenly, realizing he had only seen Casey so far.

“They’re in with Chibs.” Thomas gestured down the hall to the older man’s room. “He’s filling their heads with stories of when you and Pop were young.”

“Oh great.” That was going to end well. “Need to nip that in the bud.”

A sharp knock on the door put a swift end to the conversation. Juice barely resisted the urge to slam a palm against the counter in frustration, believing the McCall’s or any other number of visitors had shown up early. He let his aggravation be known as he stomped through the house and swung the door open. He was ready to lay into Scott, Melissa, or whoever the hell else was on the other side of the door until he registered who was actually there.

“Mama.”

Out of all the people he expected to find on his front porch, his eight-five year old mother was not one of them. She had a suitcase at her side and a colorful shawl draped over her shoulders to protect her from the light breeze. She didn’t say a word in greeting, only spread her arms, ushering him into them.

“Mama.” He whined pitifully and practically fell into her embrace. “What are you doing here?”

“John asked me to be.”

“What?”

“He called me last week and asked me to come look in on you after he was gone. He said you’d need me.” She explained, pulling back slightly to take his face in her hands to get a better look at him. “I would have come even if he hadn’t called. I’m just sorry I couldn’t get an earlier flight, that I wasn’t here sooner.”

“No. No. It’s okay.” He was just glad she was there. “C-Come inside. Come on.”

He took her suitcase and led her into the house. He wasn’t sure where she’d be staying during her visit, so he left her case by the couch and guided her into the kitchen.

“Nana,” Abel raised his brows in surprise. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“How long are you here?” Thomas asked, sweeping her up in a quick hug. “Are you only here for the funeral or will you stay awhile?”

“I’ll be here as long as I’m needed.” She offered Juice a small smile over Thomas’s shoulder.

“Does forever work for you, Mama?” It was unrealistic, he knew, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“I don’t have anything pressing to get back to.” She answered noncommittally. “Your brother and sisters are fully capable of taking care of themselves. I’m here for you, baby. You and Stiles. How is he doing?”

“Not good.” Juice didn’t think Stiles would be in the realm of good ever again. “He’s out back with Casey.”

“I don’t want to interrupt them. I’ll say ‘hello’ when they come in.” She slipped the shawl off her shoulders and draped it over the back of Thomas’s chair. “I’m here to help. What do you need me to do?”

“Just be here, Mama.” He couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

“We should probably get the kids ready for the funeral.” Abel suggested, pointedly shoving his brother to the hall. “We can head to the cemetery a little early so Pop can have some time with Gramps before the other guests arrive.”

“That’s a good idea.” Juice nodded. “I’ll send Casey your way when he comes in. Leave him and Stiles alone for now.”

“All right.”

“Juan Carlos,” His mother smoothed a hand through his hair. “How are you, baby?”

“I don’t know, Mama.” He admitted honestly. “Stiles said something this morning, that he should have been prepared for how this would feel, because he’d already been through it with his mom. And I was thinking about Dad, and I just…I don’t remember it feeling like this when he died, when I….”

“You were numb, sweetheart. You dissociated from it, I think.” She theorized calmly, no judgment in her tone. “Your relationship with John was so different than the one you had with Raymond. They both loved you in their own ways, but John is the kind of father you always needed. He offered you the care and attention Raymond never could. I’m not surprised that your love and grief for John is stronger than it was for Raymond. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, baby.”

“I’m not sure how to do this, Mama.” He had never really grieved his father’s death, he’d put it in the back of his mind as if it had meant nothing. “I-“

“Hey,” Stiles rapped his knuckles lightly against the doorframe as he and Casey came into the kitchen. “Sorry. We didn’t want to intrude-“

“You didn’t.” Juice brushed off Stiles unwarranted apology. “Casey, it’s time to get dressed for the service. Go find your dad and he’ll help you.”

“Okay.” Casey muttered listlessly as he lumbered down the hall like he had lead feet.

“Antonia,” Stiles managed to curve his mouth into what could be a smile if someone looked hard enough. “Dad told me he was gonna call you. Thanks for coming.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” She pulled Stiles into a hug before he could protest.

To Juice’s surprise, Stiles didn’t flinch or immediately put an end to the embrace. He relaxed into her hold and allowed her to rub comforting circles on his back. Juice could see her lips moving as she whispered things into his husband’s ear, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“We need to get dressed.” Juice said a little awkwardly. “In our funeral clothes, I mean.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Stiles left his tie dangling haphazardly around his neck as he stepped over to the dresser. His hands shook as he lifted the lid to the oak chest sitting atop it. The items piled inside were all important, special to him in one way or another.

Several packets of paper were pushed up against one side. There was an old early graduation form from Beacon Hills High that he never turned in, and multiple acceptance letters from the universities he had applied to. Along with them, was the folded up world map he and Juice had marked places to visit for the trip they never took. Those seemingly random assortments of things were his dreams of what could have been.

Near the bottom of the chest was a bundle of pictures held together by a rubber band. Some were candid’s of friends, like the pack, others were people he loved as family, such as Piney and Chibs. There were sonograms of the different children he had cared for. His parents wedding photo was mixed in, as well as his own, Donna and Opie’s, and the only family photo Jax and Tara had ever taken with Abel and Thomas. Just beneath the pictures, was the book of photographs his mother had left for him.

Stashed in a corner were sacred trinkets, like his Jeep’s keys, which were unusable now. Roscoe had been retired and hollowed out, currently being used as an artistic sign displayed outside _Stilinski’s Automotive Repair_ in town. The _R.I.P. Opie_ patch that club members had once sewn onto their kuttes, along with the sheriff’s badge the Darach had crushed in her palm, that Stiles had hammered back out, were tangled amongst jewelry chains.

The items the chains were a part of were what Stiles had opened the chest for. There was a cross with Juice’s initials etched into the back that had been placed inside the box for safekeeping, he extracted it from the pile of others and handed it off to his husband. The pocket watch came next, a Stilinski family heirloom handed down to him twenty-years prior.

“Are you gonna wear that today?” Juice asked as he clasped the necklace around his throat.

“I was thinking about putting it in my dad’s casket.” For a moment, it had felt like the right thing to do. “But it’s supposed to be passed on, my dad would want that.”

“You’re gonna give it to one of the boys?”

“Yes. I know who I want to give it to, who would appreciate its meaning.” He just wasn’t sure how to hand it off without hurting his other son.

“The one thing children never grow out of is that jealousy that comes with seeing their sibling receive something when they don’t.” Juice commented, as if he were reading Stiles mind. “You don’t want to play favorites.”

“Maybe I do have something for each of them.” Stiles stuck his hand into the chest once more to take his father’s badge into his hands. “I’m gonna go see how everyone is doing. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

He kissed his husband’s cheek lightly and shuffled out of the room, making his way down the hall. He stopped just outside the bedroom his granddaughters had claimed. His youngest son was fixing Nathaniel’s hair, so it didn’t stick up in every direction, while Antonia helped Joanie put hers up in a neat bun.

“Thomas, come here for a second, buddy.” Stiles urged the younger man into the hall.

“You okay, Pop?” Thomas questioned as he joined him outside the door.

“I, uh, I wanted to give you this,” He held out the pocket watch. “It’s been in our family for generations, passed down from fathers to sons. You should wear it today and on other special occasions. Your grandpa wore it to his dad’s funeral, and at his wedding. I wore it at mine.”

“I remember.” Thomas took the watched delicately into his own hands. “Are you giving this to me for the day, or –“

“It’s yours now. You’ll give it to Nathaniel one day.” It would continue on down the family line, as it was meant to. “It belongs to you. Take care of it.”

“I will.” Thomas vowed, holding the heirloom firmly in his grasp. “Thank you.”

“Stiles,” Antonia appeared beside Thomas. “Do you need help with your tie, sweetheart?”

“Huh?” He glanced down at the fabric lying undone around his neck. “Oh, um, sure. Thanks.”

“Is Juan Carlos ready?” She inquired as she worked the knot into the silk.

“Almost.” He took a half-step back when she was finished. “Where’s Abel?”

“In the living room.”

“Okay.” Stiles nodded and gave his youngest son an inquisitive once-over. “You doing all right, Tommy? How are the twins?”

“We’re holding up, Pop.” Thomas assured him. “The funeral is gonna be rough, but I think we’ll be okay. Abel, though, he’s been quiet. I’m worried about him.”

“I’ll talk to him.” Stiles placed a peck to Antonia’s cheek, a ‘thank you’ for helping with his tie, before he continued down the hall and stairs.

Chibs was sitting on the couch with Abel’s three kids, all dressed in their nicest clothes. He caught Chibs eye, raising a brow in question. The older man pointed him to the kitchen, it was there Stiles found his oldest child standing beside the counter, looking as lost as Stiles had ever seen him.

Stiles didn’t say anything to announce his presence. He simply strode over to the counter and stood in front of his boy. He straightened Abel’s tie with one hand while he slipped the sheriff’s badge into the breast pocket of his suit jacket with the other.

“There is no one in this world that I felt safer with than my dad. When we had to be apart for any reason, that badge helped me feel safe.” The drummed his fingers over the outline of it. “Whatever choices you make or life you choose to live, I’m hoping that it will make you feel safe too. It’s your grandfather’s symbol, who he was, a protector. As long as you have it, he’ll protect you, just like he always protected me.”

“Pop.” Abel covered Stiles had with his own over the badge as a sob escaped his mouth.

“I know how close you were with your grandpa,” Despite the conflicts within the family, Stiles had rested easy knowing Abel would still turn to their patriarch in times of need. “No one can ever replace him or the bond you shared, but I want you to know that you still got me and your dad. Do you understand?”

“Y-Yes.” Abel sniveled, gripping Stiles hand almost painfully. “I love you, Pop.”

“I love you too, son.”

“Boys,” Chibs Scottish drawl interrupted their moment. “It’s time to go.”

“Already?” Stiles trembled at the very idea of heading to the cemetery. “Are you sure it’s time already?”

“Aye.”

“Well, um,” Stiles fidgeted his hands and began pacing toward the backdoor. “You guys should go. I’ll, uh, I’ll meet you there.”

“Stiles,” Chibs sighed. “Come on, love. You know you can’t run away from it or put it off.”

“I-I just need a little more time.” He just need a few more minutes, that was all. “I’ll be there, I promise. I just need more time, please.”

“There’ll never be enough time, love.” The older man declared somberly. “You know that better than most.”

“I don’t want to go.” Stiles confessed, heart constricting painfully in his chest.

“Will you go for us?” Abel pleaded warily, as if he knew he were pushing a boundary. “For me and Thomas, and the kids? We need you.”

“Abel…” It was emotional blackmail and they both knew it.

“Please?”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

The funeral was to be held outside, in the bright sunlight. There were several row of chairs set up for family only, the other guests would stand behind them. To Juice’s disappointment, the area was not as empty as he hoped it would be when they arrived.

“Military…” Stiles noted several service members nearby. “He’s getting a veteran’s funeral? That’s what he wanted?”

“He wasn’t sure about it at first, he thought the gunfire might scare the kids, but he earned it.” John had spent nearly ten years in the Marines and had fought in the Gulf. “He filled out the paperwork and I sent it in after…”

“Thank you, f-for doing that, for helping him with all of that. I wouldn’t have known what to do, where he should be.” Stiles took in a shaky breath as they moved closer to where the casket was displayed. “W-Would he want to be with my mom or his dad? I wouldn’t have known.”

“He wanted to be with your mom.” Juice took Stiles arm to lead him to a chair in the front row, letting the kids fall in line behind them. “Let’s sit down.”

“I don’t want to be here.” Stiles murmured, eyes darting from the casket to his mother’s headstone a few feet away. “I-I don’t want to do this.”

“I know.” Juice draped an arm over his husband’s shoulders. “I wanna say it’ll be over soon, but no matter how long it actually lasts, it’s gonna feel like forever.”

“Incoming,” Thomas warned. “McCall and company.”

“Hey Stiles.” Scott greeted sullenly as he and his mother wandered over. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Stiles didn’t make a move to stand or exchange hugs, as he was sure Scott expected him to. “Thank you for coming.”

“How are you doing, sweetie?” Melissa asked, leaning down to kiss Stiles cheek.

“I’m fine.” Stiles lied easily. “How are you?”

“Oh, we’re fine too.” Melissa’s poker face wasn’t as good as she probably thought it was.

“Is the wake going to be at John’s old house?” Scott posed the question to Juice rather than Stiles. “I only ask because his house is closer to town.”

“It’ll be at our house.” Juice would have used John’s old place, but it would have taken a week to air out and they would've had to move furniture back into it. “Why don’t you guys find a place to…stand? Melissa, I think we can spare a chair for you. We can all talk later, at the house.”

Almost as soon as Scott and Melissa walked away, another pack member was there to take their place. Malia was first, offering a quick hug to both them, although the one she gave Stiles lasted longer than the one Juice had found himself in. She repeatedly opened her mouth to say something, but ultimately snapped her jaw shut and moved on without a word.

Kira was next, striding over with a consoling smile on her face. To her credit, she didn’t spew the usual platitudes. She simply apologized for her parents not being able to attend, her own father having recently fallen ill, and offered her condolences before joining Malia and the McCall’s.

Juice was surprised to find that Derek had made the trip, seeing as he had relocated to South America years ago to be with his sister. Stiles seemed shocked as well, only he hid it better, at least until Derek pressed an awkward kiss to his temple.

“From Cora.” The wolf muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be here for a couple of days. Okay?”

“Okay.” Stiles nodded, catching the underlying meaning, Derek would be there for him, if he needed him. “Thanks.”

* * *

 

Stiles went through the funeral in an almost trance like state. The world around him went quiet when the chaplain began speaking at the start of the service. He didn’t hear a word the of the eulogy Abel and Thomas gave, or the gun salute shots. He couldn’t muster a ‘thank you’ to the soldier who kneeled in front of him to hand him a folded up flag.

He didn’t even notice the service had ended until he felt his husband’s hand on his elbow, urging him out of his chair. He held the flag close to his chest as he stood. He allowed his hand to be shaken by a blur of people as Juice guided him to the car.

Stiles became aware that he was losing time when Juice shut his car door and then they were suddenly on the road in the middle of town. One moment they were in the cemetery parking lot, and the next they were well on their way through the residential area of Beacon Hills. Stiles didn’t think much of the lapse of time until they passed a familiar block.

“Woodbine Lane….” He glided a finger lazily over the glass of the window. “That’s our old house.”

“What?” Juice’s focus flickered from the road to Stiles momentarily. “What did you say?”

“129 Woodbine Lane,” Stiles rattled off his old address. “It’s where we lived with my mom, and before her.”

“Oh.” His husband’s fingers flexed over the steering wheel. “Do you want me to stop and turn around? Do you wanna see the house?”

“No.” Stiles thumped his head against the glass. “It’s someone else’s home now. It’s just my history.”

The remainder of the car ride went by in silence, nothing but the soft hum of the engine and whir or tires to fill the emptiness. Stiles watched the scenery change from houses to business to the tree line of the preserve. He only felt himself relax when their home came into view, nestled behind a tall gate, surrounded by trees.

There were multiple vehicles parked around the property already, telling Stiles that Juice had purposefully taken the long way through town to give them a few moments alone. He was grateful for that reprieve as Juice maneuvered their car around the number of others until they were safely tucked away in the garage.

“What do I do with this?” Stiles motioned to the flag in his lap.

“I, uh, I don’t know.” Juice scratched his head. “We can buy a case for it, I think. Some of your dad’s old Marine buddies are here, maybe we can ask one of them.”

“Okay.” If anyone would know it would be his dad’s friends, he supposed. “We should go inside, I guess. Right?”

“Yeah.”

Just as he had helped him into the car, Juice helped him out of it as well. Stiles was beginning to think it had more to do with Juice needing the physical contact than it did him. He didn’t mind it either way.

“Abel and Thomas’s speech, the e-eulogy, was it good?” Stiles questioned as they stepped into the house through the garage door.

“Your dad would have liked it.”

“Did anyone else speak?” His eyes had been on the casket the entire time, his attention solely on where his father was resting.

“Uh, the Mayor did, your dad being a fomer sheriff and all, he had to get a sound bite in. And one of your dad’s friends, Tobias, I think his name was.” Juice told him. “He was in a military uniform.”

“Uncle Toby. He and Dad met in boot camp, been friends ever since.” Such good friends in fact, that Toby also happened to be Stiles godfather. “He’s a shrink. After retiring from the service, he became a psychologist. He’s gonna try to talk to me, to see where my heads at.”

“A lot of people want to talk to you, Stiles.”

“I don’t want to talk to them, Juice. I don’t want to talk to anyone.” He glanced over Juice’s shoulder to spy the guests gathered in his kitchen. “I-I think I’m gonna go upstairs for a while. Is that okay?”

“It’s okay.” Juice kissed his lips and caressed his fingers over the nape of Stiles neck. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I’m just gonna rest.” The exhaustion he felt in the midst of grief was overwhelming. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Stiles successfully dodged the guests as he bolted for the stairs, he’d wager that he had his sons and mother-in-law to thank for that. He yanked off his tie and suit jacket, tossing them onto the bed as he entered the bedroom. He wasn’t as careless with the flag still held in his grip, he placed it carefully onto the dresser beside his treasure chest.

Once his hands were free, Stiles rifled through the chest, just as he had done earlier in the day. He pushed items out of the way, dumping them onto the dresser as if they meant nothing, until he found what he was searching for. He took the batch of photographs into his hands, discarding the rubber band onto the floor.

He took his refuge on the balcony. He settled into the old wicker chair and spread the pictures out on the little table next to it. He let the smiling faces of his loved ones bring him the only peace he had felt in months.

* * *

 

John’s friends and old colleagues began to filter out of the house around the same time the food started to run out. Soon, it was only stray pack members and family sitting at the table on the deck, while the children laid in the grass, watching the sun go down.

“Where did those come from?” Juice pointed to a vase of carnations sitting on the dining room table, visible through the open back doors.

“Card said they were from Lydia.” Chibs disclosed, sipping his beer. “It said condolences, sorry for your loss, best wishes, and all that. They came this morning.”

“She really wanted to be here.” Scott claimed, not sounding very believable. “But she’s in London and it’s such a long flight to take for a….”

“For the funeral of a guy she hasn’t seen in years?” Juice finished for him. “We’ll send her a ‘thank you’ note for the flowers. That’s what you do in situations like this, right?”

“I can do that, baby.” His mother took the task on for herself. “You just worry about taking care of yourself and Stiles.”

“How is Stiles?” Melissa questioned concernedly. “I mean, how is he really?”

“He just lost his only living parent. How do you think he is?” Derek retorted before Juice had the chance.

“He’s been…subdued,” Abel furrowed his brows. “Maybe that’s not the right word.”

“He’s been sleeping a lot. He’s not eating.” Thomas said as he pushed out of his seat. “He’s been upstairs a while. I’m gonna go check on him and take him a plate of food.”

“We can see him from here.” Juice nodded to the balcony where his husband seemed to have fallen asleep in his chair. “But if you’re going up, will you get him a blanket? It’s getting cold out here.”

“Yeah, Dad.” Thomas clapped him on the shoulder as he worked his way around the table toward the house. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Thanks.”

“The funeral was nice.” Scott mentioned offhandedly. “I didn’t realize John knew so many people.”

“It sort of comes with the territory of being Sheriff.” Abel muttered dryly. “I didn’t realize how close he was to some of them. He was never a social butterfly, played things close to his chest.”

“His old marine friends had some stories to tell.” Chibs snickered. “I always thought Stiles got that shit-starter attitude from Gemma. I was set straight today.”

“John hid it better.” Juice grinned knowingly. “He was a sarcastic and snarky shit, like Stiles. And he could do a really powerful rendition of ‘ _What’s Up’_ by 4 Non Blondes.”

“He used to sing _‘Turn the Page’_ by Bob Seger to Stiles when he was having trouble sleeping.” Scott divulged, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I heard him once when I stayed over when we were kids.”

“I remember my mom telling me that John and my dad once did a duet of War’s ‘ _Why Can’t We Be Friends?._ ’” Derek chuckled at the memory. “Supposedly, it was to raise money or something.”

“I remember that.” Melissa clapped her hands in delight. “It was a hospital benefit for the pediatrics unit. They were married men so they couldn’t participate in the bachelor auction, so they found another way to raise money. Claudia and Talia were actually asked to leave the benefit because they were laughing so hard.”

“Karaoke just doesn’t song like Grandpa’s thing.” Abel shook his head, confusion marring his features. “It’s so outgoing, not like him at all.”

“He wasn’t always so reserved.” Melissa acknowledged. “Things happened in life that made him that way.”

“Dad!” Thomas’s panicked voice echoed through the backyard. “Dad!”

“Thomas?” Juice shot up out of his chair, gaze finding his son leaning over the balcony railing. “What’s wrong?”

“Get up here!”

Juice dashed into the house, through the kitchen, and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He smacked a shoulder on the doorframe as he rushed into the bedroom. He stopped dead in his tracks once he hit the balcony.

Thomas was standing stock still against the railing, his eyes pinned on his father. Stiles was slumped over in the chair, hands lying limp on his lap.

“He-He’s not breathing.” Thomas croaked as if the words were being forced from his throat.

“Stiles?” Juice crouched down beside the chair, reaching out to find a pulse point on his husband’s neck. “Thomas, call an ambulance.”

“He’s not breathing, Dad.”

“Go call an ambulance!” Juice ordered harshly in an effort to get his son moving. “Go, Thomas! Now!”

“I’m going!” Thomas shouted, darting into the bedroom as he fumbled with his cellphone.

Juice felt tears burn his eyes the longer he stared at his husband’s still form. He pulled Stiles off the chair as gently as he could, sitting back against the railing, and cradling his body in his arms.

“You’re a prick for trying to do this to me today.” He sobbed, pressing their foreheads together. “Goddamn it, Stiles. Y-You don’t get to do this to me. Not now. Not ever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Juice confesses sins from the past as he struggles to come to terms with recent events. Each member of the family makes critical decisions for their futures.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: Mentions of past suicide attempts.  
> At some point, in all the years it has been since the end of Crossed Lines, Juice's mother Antonia learned about the werewolves. It was bound to happen seeing as Juice is a werewolf.

There was only sliver of light peeking through a slit of the closed curtains in the otherwise dark room. The bleakness of it complemented Juice’s grim mood nicely. The cool temperature of the air only added to the tomb-like ambiance of the area.

Juice had closed himself up in the room since returning from the hospital without his husband. He had crawled into bed, fully clothed, and cocooned himself beneath the blankets. It had been days and he had steadfastly refused to leave the confines of his marital bed.

The only physical contact he had was with the circular band of metal sitting in the palm of his hand. Stiles wedding ring felt like a lead weight against his skin.

“Hey Dad,” Abel knocked his knuckles on the doorframe to announce his presence. “You, uh, you wanna get out of bed today?”

“No.” That was by far the last thing he wanted to do.

“Well, um, Tommy and I have to go pick up Pop.” His son said cautiously, as if he were unsure how that news would be received. “We thought you would want to come with us.”

“I don’t.” He pulled the comforter up high around his shoulders pointedly to signal the end of the conversation.

“Are you sure?”

“Close the door on your way out.”

“Fine.” There was no lack of aggravation in Abel’s brusque tone. “Nana and Uncle Chibs are watching the kids.”

“Fine.” He parroted his son’s annoyed lit. “Remember what I said about that door.”

“Dad, I was hoping you would spend some time with your grandchildren.” Abel mentioned. “They miss you.”

“I’ll see them later.” He wasn’t in the mood to be social, even with his grandkids.

“Those kids have already lost their great-grandfather and then they nearly lost their Papa,” Abel stated like Juice was ignorant to that fact. “And you’ve been held up in this goddamn room for so long that now they think you are sick. They have themselves convinced that they will lose you too.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Juice snapped harshly. “I don’t need a guilt trip. I want to be alone.”

“Don’t worry. I’m leaving.”

The loud ‘boom’ of the door slamming shut followed Abel’s swift exit. Juice couldn’t fault the kid for being pissed, the boys had gotten lumped with the post-funeral tasks since Stiles had fallen ill and Juice had taken to his bed. He wanted to help his children and comfort his grandchildren while they grieved, but he was too angry for that.

There was a visual manifestation of the person he was unhappy with sitting atop the nightstand on Stiles side of the bed. The framed photograph was of the two of them smiling together outside of TM. It used to be a nice sight to wake up to if Stiles had gotten out of bed before him, now his rage made him snatch the frame off the table and throw it against the wall as hard as he can, relishing in the sound of it shattering.

* * *

 

It took a hell of a lot more effort to put on his shoes than Stiles would ever admit. They weren’t even real shoes, they were slippers, yet he was still huffing and out of breath from the exertion it took to climb off the bed and slide them on. If he didn’t know any better he would think he was seriously out of shape.

“You couldn’t have brought me some actual shoes?” He grumbled in Abel and Thomas’s direction.

“You are just going to take them off when we get home. Those are easier to get on and off than your sneakers.” Thomas acknowledged as he went around the room, gathering the personal affects scattered about.

“Here’s your hoodie, Pop.” Abel held the sweater out to him. “You know, uh, Dad wanted to pick you up, but the-“

“No, he didn’t.” The idea that his husband would retrieve him from the hospital was laughable at best. “He always gets in a mood when I get hurt or sick. He’s like a child throwing a temper tantrum.”

“I think it’s a bit more serious than that.” Abel muttered under his breath.

“Okay, Mr. S,” A young woman wearing a lab coat pushed her way into the room. “Your discharge papers are ready.”

“Since when do doctors handle discharge papers?” Stiles squinted his eyes at the woman. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but don’t you have more important patients to attend to, Dr. Mercer?”

“No one more important than you, Mr. S.” She grinned and turned to the boys. “Thomas, Abel, it’s good to see you both. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

“It’s been a long time, Camille.” Abel murmured, eyeing his childhood friend with intrigue.

“Since high school.”  She raked a hand through her hair nervously. “I heard about your grandfather. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Abel shifted awkwardly on his feet. “How are your parents?”

“Good. They’re good. They left a month ago on an around the world cruise.” She divulged, tapping a pen against the chart in her hands.

“You said Pop was free to go,” Thomas interjected. “Right?”

“Yep.” Camille nodded and glanced back to Stiles. “Your cardiologist came to speak with you, didn’t he? He should have discussed a treatment plan and lifestyle changes.”

“He was here.” Stiles cardiologist had wrung his neck for an hour and then got down to business about how to proceed from there. “He put me on new meds, which I need to pick up from the pharmacy on the way home.”

“We already picked them up.” Thomas told him as he wrapped his fingers around Stiles bicep, as if he would help him walk. “So we don’t have to make any stops on the way home. The quicker we get home, the sooner you can lie down and rest.”

“Thomas, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not an invalid.” Stiles jerked his arm out of his youngest son’s grip. “I can walk just fine, and I can take care of myself.”

“If you were capable of taking care of yourself, we wouldn’t be here right now.” Abel shot back obstinately. “And I’m pretty sure hospital protocol says you have to take a wheelchair out of here, whether you can walk or not. Right, Camille?”

“That’s right.” The good doctor flashed him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Mr. S.”

“It’s fine.” He had been hospitalized enough to know the drill by now. “Can we just go now, please? I was never a fan of hospitals.”

“Yeah, Pop, let’s go.” Thomas scanned the room once more to make sure they had not forgotten anything. “It was nice to see you, Camille. If we have any questions about Pop, or if Abel just wants to talk, can he give you a call?”

“Thomas!” Abel shrieked indignantly.

“He’s got three kids, but they are all fantastic.” Thomas continued, ignoring his brother’s squawks. “They are so well-behaved you could hardly believe they’re his. I’m sure they would love you, kinda like Abel, who was head over heels for you in high school, which is why he acted like such an ass. He didn’t know how to deal with his feelings for you.”

“Thomas!” Abel smacked a hand over his little brother’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up! Oh my god!”

“Are you watching your parent’s house while they’re out of town?” Stiles asked the younger woman, who nodded in response. “I’ll give Abel their number. He will call you and you can catch up. How does coffee tomorrow morning sound? He will meet you at the diner down the street from the sheriff’s station at ten. Okay?”

“Uh, yes.” She flicked a bemused gaze Abel’s way. “Sounds great.”

“Good.” Stiles nudged his oldest out of the way. “Now let’s go.”

“Did you just ask her out for me?” Abel questioned incredulously.

“Yes.” His son never would have had the balls to do it. “Let’s go.”

Stiles began stalking out of the room, only to be stopped outside the door and forced into a wheelchair by Thomas and an orderly. There was a permanent glower etched on his features the whole way down to the ground floor. It didn’t disappear during the trek across the parking lot or when they piled into the car.

“I can’t believe you are making me sit in the passenger seat.” He scowled as he fastened his seatbelt. “It’s my damn car, I should be driving.”

“Until your body adjusts to the medication change, you should not be operating heavy machinery.” Abel reiterated what one of Stiles attending doctors had said earlier in the morning. “Suck it up, Pop.”

“Just drive the car.” Stiles ordered irritably. “I just wanna go home.”

“We’re going, Pop.” Thomas brought a hand up from the backseat to give his shoulder a squeeze. “Relax.”

“I’m just tired.”

He leaned his head against the car window and watched the scenery go by, much like he had after his father’s funeral. The view didn’t hold his attention the same way it had days prior. His eyes roamed the interior of the vehicle instead, trying to find something, anything, to focus on and keep his mind off what was waiting for him at home. What his gaze caught on was Jax, or rather, Jax in Abel’s features.

“Jesus.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “You look so much like him.”

“What?” Abel furrowed his brows but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “I look like who?”

“Jackson.” His son and big brother were nearly identical. “Your hair is a little different and your eyes aren’t as sad, but otherwise, you are the spitting image of Jax.”

“Oh.” The younger man chewed his lip between his teeth. “I’m sorry? I mean, is it…hard for you to look at me, because I look like him?”

“No.” There were subtle differences that helped Stiles differentiate between Jackson and Abel. “I-I still see him sometimes.”

“You, uh, you see him?” Thomas inquired tentatively. “You mean you go to his grave or the memorial on 580, right?”

“No. Well, yes, actually.” He did find himself on the highway or at the cemetery every so often, but he saw and felt Jax’s presence more prominently in his own home. “I see him other places too. He stands in the mirror next to me. Sometimes I’ll be driving and I’ll glance over and he’ll be sitting in the passenger seat.”

“Does he, um, does he say anything to you?” Abel questioned timidly.

“No.” His big brother only spoke to him in his dreams. “He’ll just be there, like he’d never left. He’s keeping his promise, I think.”

“W-What promise?” The way Thomas clutched his shoulder went from comforting to something painful.

“That he would always be there.” Jax had sworn to him, more than once, that when everyone else was gone, they would still have each other. “Even when we were apart we would still be together.”

“Have you told anyone about this? That you see _him_?” Abel asked worriedly. “One of your doctors? Your therapist?”

“I’m not crazy.” Although, to be honest, he could see how they might jump to that conclusion. “It’s not like I talk to him and he tells me to do bad things. He’s just there sometimes.”

“It’s- _He_ is a coping mechanism.” Thomas reasoned. “One you have been relying on for over twenty-five years.”

“We all have our ways of dealing with things. Let’s leave it at that.” Stiles was already regretting telling his sons anything. “I could have a worse long-term coping strategy.”

“That’s true.” Abel nodded as he pulled into the driveway. “You could be an alcoholic.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at his oldest son’s words as he exited the car. He waved off Thomas’s attempts to help as he trudged into the house. He was half expecting to be bombarded by tiny children the moment he crossed over the threshold, however, he made it to the living room unhindered.

“The kids are outback with Derek and Malia.” Antonia relayed as she greeted him with a hug. “They heard you were coming home today and wanted to check in. Nathaniel talked them into shifting into their full wolf and coyote forms so they could play fetch. I thought Malia or Derek might find it demeaning, but they jumped right in.”

“Anything to keep the children happy.” He would have to thank the Hale’s for the effort. “I’ll talk to them later. I’m gonna lie down for a while.”

“Juan Carlos is in your bedroom.” She nodded to the stairs. ”I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

“I doubt that.” He mumbled as he glanced up the steps, which looked far more hazardous than they ever had before. “I’ll never make it up those without losing my breath. I’m just gonna crash in the study.”

He kissed her cheek and took off down the hall before she could say anything more. He made his way to his former office, where his father had taken his final breath, spent his final moments. The bed hadn’t been moved out yet, it was still sitting where it had been for the last few years, but it was bare, the blankets were gone, the pillows were all that was left behind.

Stiles kicked off his slippers and crawled on top of the mattress. He buried his face in the pillows, trying to catch a whiff of his dad’s old cologne, but smelling nothing but laundry detergent. The tears poured from his eyes when he realized everything that could remind him of his father’s presence had been stripped from the room.

* * *

 

Antonia marched up the stairs after watching her son-in-law’s retreating form disappear down the hall. She stepped into the bedroom without bothering to knock. Her son had lost the right to privacy about two days into his self-imposed isolation, when he had refused to leave the room for a single moment. His seclusion reminded her of when he was a child.

When Juan Carlos was a young, he would get into these moods. He would retreat into himself little by little. He would start by keeping behind closed doors, losing himself in coding or hacking or whatever it was he did on his computer. Eventually, he would wind up in bed and would not leave it until someone made him.

Antonia and Marisol would lie in bed with him, silently coaxing him to rejoin the world. Felix would dive bomb him good-naturedly, giving Juan Carlos the option to climb out of bed or risk bruises from his little brother’s flying elbows. Ray, Marianna, and Angelo weren’t so kind, they would work together to yank him out by his feet and shove him in the shower to get the stink washed off him.

“Some things never change.” She murmured as she walked around the room to sit on the edge of the bed her son was facing. “Juan Carlos, are you awake?”

“More or less.” He grunted, pushing the blankets down to reveal his tear-stained face. “What’s going on?”

“Stiles is home.” She said carefully, she couldn’t be sure how he would react given his recent behavior. “He’s in the study. You should go see him.”

“No.” He shook his head.

“Juan Carlos, you came home from the hospital after Stiles woke up and you never went back.” She had never been so perplexed by her son as she was when he refused to visit his ailing husband. “Why would you do that? Why won’t you see him now? Answer me, Juan Carlos.”

“I was sitting next to his hospital bed when he woke up. He opened his eyes, and when he glanced around the room and realized where he was…he looked disappointed, Mama.” Juan Carlos sniveled, his face scrunching up in a sullen expression. “He was disappointed to be alive.”

“Or, he was upset to be in the hospital.” It wasn’t something anyone enjoyed. “You can’t blame him for feeling that way.”

“He wouldn’t have been in the hospital if he had been taking his pills.” He claimed, gesturing to the pill bottle on the nightstand. “I picked up so many prescriptions refills these last few months and I never noticed his wasn’t one of them.”

“He forgot to take them, baby.” With everything going on in the family, it wasn’t a shock to think certain things had slipped Stiles mind. “Do you think it was intentional? Do you believe he stopped taking his medication to put himself at risk?”

“I don’t think he cares if he lives or dies. And if he doesn’t care, then there is no reason for him to take his pills.” Juan Carlos moved until he was sitting up against the headboard. “He’s in so much pain that he wants to die. I’m angry at myself because I don’t know how to help him. I should be able to do something for him, Mama. I’ve been there, you know. I’ve wanted to die. I’ve tried to die, more than once.”

“What does that mean, Juan Carlos?” She reached out to take his hand in hers, grateful when he didn’t pull away. “Are you talking about what happened with Raymond? After that you wanted to….”

“No. No. After I killed Dad, I just wanted to forget. I didn’t want to die.” He dropped his gaze to the comforter and picked at a loose thread of it. “The first time, was a few years before Stiles and I got married.”

“The first what?”

“The first time I attempted suicide.” He confessed unapologetically, cushioning the blow for her did not seem to be in his repertoire for the day. “Things got bad and I didn’t see another way out. I drove to the woods and tried to hang myself with a tow truck chain.”

“Baby….” Her breath caught in her throat as her mind conjured the image of Juan Carlos’s body dangling lifelessly, just as his big brother Angelo’s had.

“The branch I wrapped the chain around snapped and I fell. Chibs found me later, while I was trying to get rid of the evidence. I broke down in front of him.” He snorted derisively, as If he were still embarrassed by his prior outburst. “He took me home and called Stiles. They took care of me.”

“Y-You, um,” She cleared her throat around a lump of emotion. “You said that was the first time. You tried more than once?”

“If you ask Chibs, he would tell you the second attempt was when I walked through an active minefield without worrying if I’d get blown to pieces.” He remarked callously. “The way I see it, I was protecting my friends, finding them safe passage through a war zone.”

“What do you consider your second attempt?”

“I was ordered to do something to someone innocent and I couldn’t handle the guilt. I took some pills, oxy. I took a lot of oxy. And Gemma was right, I knew that many could kill me, I just didn’t care.” He sighed, drawing his knees up to his chest. “She and her boyfriend found me, got the pills out of my system. Stiles sister-in-law, Lyla, took care of me the rest of the night.”

“Was that the last time?” She was afraid to ask, but knew she would not rest easy again without knowing the truth.

“Yeah. Yes.” He nodded, skimming a thumb across the top of her hand. “I got help. I spent a lot of years in therapy. It’s been a long time, but I still remember exactly how I felt then, how Stiles feels now.”

“I was in a psychiatric hospital for three months after your brother Angelo’s death.” It was the one thing Antonia had kept from her son since they reconnected twenty years ago. “I couldn’t function after losing one of my babies. I wouldn’t eat or speak or get out of bed. All I wanted to do was sleep. Your brothers and sisters were so worried. They couldn’t get through to me. They had to put me in the hospital before I did serious damage to myself.”

“No one told me.”

“I didn’t want them to.” She could not save her other children from seeing her in such a state, but she was able to save Juan Carlos. “Sweetheart, the point is, grief can send us so deep into a depression that we can’t see the light, no matter how bright it shines.”

“You think Stiles is in that depression?” Juan Carlos posed the question like he already knew the answer.

“I do.” Her son-in-law hid it better than most, but she could still see the sorrow beneath the surface. “But that is not what put him in that hospital, baby. He had a heart attack brought on by his arrhythmia and high blood pressure.”

“If he had been taking his pills, he could have prevented that.” Juan Carlos, ever the stubborn, glared at the pill bottle as if it were directly responsible for Stiles ailment.

“Juan Carlos-“

“I could have lost him, Mama. T-The doctors said we barely got to him in time. If we had shown up a few minutes later, he could have had brain damage from the lack of oxygen or he could have died.” Tears spilled down his cheeks. “That day, he told me he couldn’t survive without his dad. He doesn’t know, though, Mama.”

“He doesn’t know what, baby?”

“He doesn’t know that he is the person I cannot survive without.” He sobbed, devastation painting his face. “I’m not being dramatic. It’s something I know, something I feel in my heart. I almost lost him and we haven’t…we haven’t had enough time. We haven’t done any of the things we said we were going to do.”

“What kind of things?” Every couple had hopes and dreams for the future, she and Raymond never accomplished any of their goals. She wondered if there was still time for her son and his husband to accomplish theirs.

“We were gonna go away when the kids were grown.” He rose from the bed and stumbled over to the dresser, taking what looked like a folded up map out of a chest. “We were gonna go away, just the two of us.”

“Go where?”

“Everywhere.” He spread the world map out over the bed. “It was gonna be our time together. W-We’ve never had that. We had the club and then the kids. It was never us.”

“You never got to go, because when Thomas graduated high school, he still needed your help with the twins.” By the time Thomas was ready to strike out on his own, John had fallen ill and Filip had moved in, both men needing Stiles and Juan Carlo’s care. “Your boys are grown now. They can take care of themselves. Filip has a daughter and son-in-law to take him in. It can be just you and Stiles.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Stiles and I should go away?”

“I think some time away would be good for both of you.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

* * *

 

Juice wrapped the comforter around his shoulders as he walked down the steps and wandered the house until he came upon the open door of the study. Stiles was curled in a tight ball in the middle of the bed, head buried in a pillow to muffle his cries. The sight of his husband in such turmoil made his heart clench painfully in his chest.

He was careful not to jostle Stiles too much as he slid into bed behind him. He draped the blanket over his husband and circled an arm around his waist to pull him close.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into his husband’s ear. “I should have been at the hospital with you.”

“You were mad.” Stiles grumbled somberly. “Are you…are you still mad at me?”

“I wasn’t mad. I was scared.” His fear had caused him to lash out the only way he knew how. “I was so fucking scared.”

“I’m still here.” Stiles relaxed into his embrace, burrowing into his warmth. “You still got me. I wasn’t trying to die on you.”

“Glad to hear it.” Juice reached into his pocket to remove the ring he had hidden away. “Do you want this back?”

“Yes.” He lifted up his left hand and allowed Juice to slip the band onto his finger. “I thought it was gone.”

“I was afraid the hospital would have to cut it off, so I took it before the paramedics arrived.” He wasn’t about to let Beacon Hills Memorial destroy yet another symbol of their love and commitment to one another.

“Thank you.”

“So, um, my mom had an idea, a brilliant idea.” The more Juice thought on it, the more he had to agree that it would be good for them. “We should go on our trip.”

“A trip?” Stiles glanced over his shoulder to offer him a look of confusion. “Do you really think now is the right time for a vacation?”

“Not a vacation.” That would imply they would be returning in a matter of days or weeks, and that was not the case. “A trip. Our trip. The one we planned after we moved to Oregon.”

“Oh.” The younger man’s brows rose high on his forehead. “Y-You want to do that? I thought we had given up on that years ago.”

“I want to do it. I think we need to do it.” His mother was right, they needed to get away for a while. “And we can do it, Stiles. We have no one depending on us anymore.”

“The kids-“

“Can take care of themselves.” Questionable life choices or not, Abel and Thomas were fully capable of standing on their own two feet. “They are grown men with children of their own. They don’t need us to take care of them anymore.”

“Chibs?” Stiles rolled onto his back so they were more or less face-to-face.

“Has a daughter that would be happy to take him in.” That happiness would wear off quickly once Kerrianne realized what a whiner her father was when he was sick. “She’d regret it eventually, but initially she would welcome him with open arms.”

“And me?” Stiles frowned tightly.

“What about you?”

“I want to go with you. I do. There is nothing I want more than to runaway with you.” He grazed his index finger over Juice’s chin. “But I’m…I’m sick. My heart is failing. They ran tests after my heart attack and they said I was in heart failure.”

“I know.” He had stuck around the hospital long enough to listen to the doctor’s diagnosis. “It’s not so bad that you need a pacemaker or something. You need medication and to change your diet, no more salt or alcohol, and you’ve gotta exercise.”

“That’s the quick and simple version, yeah.” Stiles sighed tiredly. “I figured you would want me to stay close to my doctors.”

“I will talk to your doctors and we’ll get your medication sorted. When it’s time for refills, we will make sure to be close to a pharmacy.” They could take their trip without putting Stiles health at risk in the process. “I can take care of you. Do you trust me to do that?”

“There is no one I trust more.” The corners of Stiles lips quirked up in a smile. “We’re gonna do it then? We’re going to go away?”

“Yes.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Just the two of us.” It would be them and the open road, just as they always dreamed it would be. “Tell me that you wanna go.”

“I want to go.” Stiles cupped a warm hand to back of his neck.

“Tell me,” Juice maneuvered himself on top of his husband, fitting himself between his spread legs. “Tell me you want to runaway with me.”

“Always.” Stiles grinned blissfully, it was real and honest, something Juice hadn’t seen in years, and fuck if it wasn’t beautiful. “You are the only person I would ever runaway with.”

“Runaway with me?” He repeated, if only so he could hear those words fall from his husband’s lips once more.

“Yes.” Stiles used his grip on Juice’s neck to press their foreheads together. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

 

Stiles and Juice finally found it in themselves to leave the confines of the study later in the evening. As soon as they left the safety of the room and made their way to the kitchen, they were immediately accosted by their grandchildren, who had been called into the house by their fathers. They made the rounds with hugs and kisses before the kids were sent off to wash up.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Stiles asked the Hale cousins as the children ran off.

“Kira and I are actually making dinner for her parents tonight.” Malia pecked her lips to his cheek. “Breakfast tomorrow, though. You wanna do that?”

“Sounds good. Have fun with Kira.” He drawled knowingly and turned an imploring gaze to Derek. “How about you?”

“It’s your first night home. It should be family only.” The wolf slipped on his leather jacket. “I’ll come with Malia in the morning. I can stay for the day, but I have a flight home tomorrow night.”

“Well, maybe Juice and I will see you and Cora in a couple weeks.” The plan for their original trip was to head south first. “We’re gonna be taking a trip. Would you or Cora mind if we stopped by?”

“You guys are always welcome.” Derek assured him. “Tell me about it over breakfast tomorrow.”

“I will. And, um, thanks for what you and Malia did for the kids today.” Chasing the children around in their full wolf and coyote forms probably wasn’t how they wanted to spend their day, but they had done it without complaint. “They needed that. I’m grateful.”

“No problem.” The wolf clapped a hand to Stiles shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

“Trip, huh.” Chibs clucked. “Would this be _the_ trip?”

“Yes.” Juice’s excitement and enthusiasm over their upcoming trip was palpable.

“What trip?” Abel questioned as he stirred sauce on the stove.

“Pop can’t go on a trip, he just got out of the hospital.” Thomas pointed out, disapproval heavy in his voice. “What the hell are you guys thinking?”

“Boys,” A hint of warning sunk into Antonia’s tone. “Why don’t you let your fathers explain their decision before you condemn it?”

“So it was your idea?” Abel leveled the older woman with an accusing glare.

“Don’t speak to your grandmother in that tone.” Juice cautioned their oldest son. “Show some respect.”

“Show us some respect by telling us what the hell you two think you are doing.” Thomas demanded impatiently. “I mean, Pop, you haven’t been thinking clearly since Gramps died, and that is understandable. Dad, you are supposed to be the voice of reason right now.”

“I am thinking just fine.” Stiles did not appreciate the insinuation that he was not. “Stop treating us like children who just declared we were going to run off and join the circus.”

“We could do that, though,” Juice beamed with amusement. “If we wanted to.”

“You are both adults, you can do anything you want to do.” Chibs acknowledged pragmatically. “Nothing holding you back.”

“Except health issues.” Abel commented hotly. “How can you possibly think this is a good idea?’

“We need this and we put it off long enough.” If he and Juice didn’t go now, they never would, and they would regret it the rest of their lives. “I need to get away for a while. It is the only way I’ll ever be able to grieve for your grandfather.”

“Why can’t you do that here?”

“He would be too worried about you kids.” Antonia chimed in thoughtfully. “He would ignore his own grief to help you grieve.”

“And it’s not just that.” Stiles did not want the boys to think it was somehow their fault. “Your dad and I need some time alone, just the two of us.”

“It has always been just the two of you.” Abel retorted petulantly.

“It has _never_ been just the two of us.” Juice corrected. “There has always been someone who needed us. We have always been a part of something else. We have never gotten the chance to just be a couple.”

“We’re not resentful of the people who needed us. We were happy to be there to care for our family.” Stiles added quickly, before Abel or Thomas could jump to conclusions. “But we won’t lie and say it hasn’t taken its toll on our marriage.”

“We want to go on this trip, so we can reconnect as a couple.” Juice settled a hand on Stiles hip. “And we need room to breathe and relax. Beacon Hills, even out here in the preserve, is stifling. Stiles and I have never been good at being cooped up.”

“We have spent the last twenty-six years doing the domestic thing. We raised you boys and watched you start families of your own, and that was the most amazing experience in the world.” Stiles never wanted his children to think he didn’t love them or enjoy watching them grow up. “Now we want to spend time together, growing as a couple, and experiencing the world.”

“Pop-“

“I’ve never gotten to do that, you know? I’ve never gotten to really live outside of a family setting.” Stiles had been thrust into fatherhood straight out of high school. He didn’t party in college or have the freedom to figure out who he was in his twenties like most did before they started a family. “I never minded that, you both meant more to me than that. But we’re all older now and I want the chance to live _my_ life, for Juice and I to live our life together. We’ve earned that, haven’t we?”

“Yes, you have.” Abel ceded reluctantly. “What about your heart? You can’t just ignore your health problems and hope they go away.”

“I can take care of his heart.” Juice insisted firmly, his tone not leaving any room for argument. “We are not idiots. We are going to speak to his doctors before we go anywhere.”

“As long as you are being smart about it,” Thomas shared a glance with his big brother. “You have our blessing.”

“We appreciate that.” Stiles was kind enough not to point out that they did not need their sons approval. “Things are changing and I know that’s scary, but I think we can all benefit from some of that.”

“Right now, I think we can all benefit from some food.” Chibs joked to break the remaining tension in the room.

“I second that.” Antonia raised a hand in agreement. “I will go get the children, and we can sit down to eat.”

* * *

 

Thomas found his Pop sitting on the deck watching the sun rise. It was the same scene he had come across every day of the two weeks it had been since Stiles had been released from the hospital. Out of all those mornings, today marked the first time Thomas interrupted him.

“Morning Pop,” He pressed his lips to his father’s head in greeting.

“Morning buddy.” Stiles offered him a small smile. “You’re up early.”

“So are you.” He dropped into the chair beside the older man. “Can’t sleep?”

“I can sleep fine.” Pop brushed off his concern. “I think I’ve been getting up early to try to imitate my father as a way to hold on to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was little, we lived in this house on Woodbine. It wasn’t anything special, a small two bedroom, but it had a beautiful backyard with this old oak tree right in the middle. Dad had a little patio set next to it.” A wistful expression crossed Stiles features. “Every morning at the crack of dawn, he would go sit out there to have his coffee. I’d hear him open the backdoor from my bedroom and I would wait for him to get settled before I went out there myself.”

“You would sit with him?”

“I would climb on his lap, curl against his chest, and go back to sleep.” The older man chuckled to himself. “Our dog, Sarge, she would wake me up with a wet nose to my arm. We would all watch the sun come up together.”

“You just wanted to be in your dad’s presence.” Thomas admired that, admired the bond between his father and grandfather. “That closeness you and Gramps had, that was the kind of relationship Abel and I always longed to have with you and Dad. We never could manage it, though. We could never live up to it.”

“It wasn’t something to live up to.” Stiles shook his head, all traces of contentment wiped from his face. “Your dad and I would have loved to have that kind of bond with you and your brother, but if you ever felt like it was an expectation-“

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” While it was something he had yearned for, he never thought it was something that was expected of him. “What you and Gramps had was special. I don’t think most children share something that deep with their parents, but we all want to.”

“I tried, Thomas. I tried to treat you and Abel the way my dad treated me. I tried to be like him.” Stiles eyes glistened. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you what he gave me.”

“You gave us everything, Pop.” He and Abel had never wanted for anything as children. “Abel and I, we never gave you enough credit. We didn’t see it.”

“See what?”

“How much you gave up for us.” They had taken their parents for granted, like the selfish children they were. “You sacrificed so much for us. I didn’t realize it until I went through your trinket box.”

“Why were you looking in that?” Stiles tilted his head curiously.

“It’s where you always kept your secrets,” It was something forbidden from their touch, which is why he and Abel had referred to it as Pandora’s Box. “You and Dad are leaving and you’re taking the box with you. I figured it was my last chance to sneak a peek.”

“You could have asked, I would have shown you.” Stiles muttered behind his coffee mug. “There are no secrets in that box, only keepsakes.”

“Why did you have an early graduation form in there?” It seemed like an odd item to hold on to.

“After Uncle Piney was murdered and your mother had gotten hurt, your grandfather wanted to keep me out of the violence surrounding Charming.” The only way to guarantee that would have been to move Stiles as far away from Charming as possible. “He knew I had enough credits to graduate early, so he wanted to me to do that and apply for early admission to universities on the other side of the country.”

“But you didn’t.” If he had, his life might have been a hell of a lot different. “Why?”

“Opie was killed and Jax needed me, I needed him.” Grief and the need to be near his brother had kept him from filing the paperwork and starting a new life. “Your grandfather brought it up again after learning about werewolves, but then the Nogitsune happened, Allison died, and Scott needed me.”

“Someone always needed you.” If the stories Thomas once heard had meant anything, he would wager that trait, that need to be needed, was something Stiles had inherited from Gemma. “You have all those college acceptance letters too, ones from ivy league schools. Why the hell did you decide on Oregon?”

“My heart was set on Berkeley.” Stiles admitted woefully. “Oregon was where I ended up.”

“Dad said you gave up Berkeley for us. You wanted to get Abel and me out of California after everything that happened with Jax and Gemma.” Thomas had the good sense to his other father first, knowing his dad wouldn’t balance a partial-truth with a pretty lie to make him feel better. “You gave up your dream school for us.”

“It was just school, Thomas.” Pop shrugged his shoulders. “You and Abel were more important.”

“And this trip, you were supposed to take it years ago. After I left for college, you were supposed to go, but I had Joanie and Nathaniel by then.” His parents had chosen the family over their freedom once again. “You and Dad took care of them for me while I went to school.”

“Hey, we don’t regret one second we spent with those kids or with you and Abel. Do it all over again and I would make all the same decisions.” Stiles stated clearly, so there would be no confusion. “Your dad and I sacrificed for you kids, yes, and that is part of being a parent. We made sacrifices for you, the way our parents made sacrifices for us.”

“Something tells me you recognized Grandpa’s sacrifices a lot sooner than Abel or I picked up on yours.” His Pop was always more perceptive than he let on. “I’m sorry, Pop.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, buddy.”

“So, I, uh, I have something to ask you.” Thomas confessed after a beat of silence.

“I thought you might be working up to something with all this.” Stiles spread his arms to give him the proverbial floor.

“I’ve been thinking about moving home.” It seemed like the right thing to do seeing how unhappy his twins had been since they moved away. “Maybe I can take care of the house while you and Dad are gone.”

“Okay.”

“And Uncle Chibs too.” The house and his uncle were kind of a package deal. “If he doesn’t want to go live with Aunt Kerri and Uncle Felix, I can look after him here.”

“I said _okay_ , Thomas.” Stiles told him. “If you want to raise Nathaniel and Joanie here, in this house, you are more than welcome to.”

“Thanks, Pop.”

“But you have to take care of the plants in the greenhouse.” Stiles drummed his fingers against the tabletop. “Don’t ask questions. They are all medicinal. We have cards.”

“Um…okay.”

* * *

 

Abel grabbed a duffle bag off the floor in the entryway and carried it out to the truck. His dad was busying himself loading belongings into the back of the vehicle, just as he had been all morning.  

“All right, I’ll ask, although I'll probably wish I hadn't.” Abel started as he shoved the duffle through the hatch of the pick-up’s topper. “Why do you have a mattress laid out in the bed of this thing?”

“Aside from the obvious reasoning?” Juice smirked, causing Abel to cringe at the implications of that. Parent sex, gross. “If we don’t want to stop and get a motel room, we can find a campsite or rest stop and sleep back here. A real mattress will feel much nicer than an air-up.”

“Fair enough.” Their old bones probably couldn’t handle tent camping anyway. “Are you sure you have everything? Did you pick up Pop’s prescriptions?”

“We have everything we need.” His dad assured him. “What about you? When do you plan to head back to Tacoma?”

“Actually, um, I wanted to talk to you about that.” Abel shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “I called my club Pres and he said I could turn in my patch, he’ll make sure the vote goes through without any problems.”

“You’re going to leave the club?” The sheer level of hope in his father’s voice was striking.

“I-I need to step back from it.” He had joined the Sons of Anarchy in an effort to relate to a man he could never and would never really know. “I need to focus on my kids. Even with the funeral and Pop’s heart attack, this is the happiest I’ve ever seen them. I want to keep them happy. I want to come home, Dad.”

“You can always come home, Abel. That has always been an option.”

“Thomas and I talked. He was gonna ask Pop if he could keep this place and Chibs.” Abel loved the house too, but Thomas’s children had spent more time there, it was sacred to them. “I was hoping I could move into Grandpa’s old house with my kids and Nana.”

“Nana?” Juice’s eyes went wide in surprise.

“She said she would stay with me.” His adoptive grandmother had offered to help him and the children get settled in Beacon Hills and he had eagerly accepted. “It’ll probably be temporary, but the kids want to get to know her, they haven’t spent much time with her.”

“You’ll be lucky to have her.” His dad smiled softly. “The house is yours, kid. You just have to pull the furniture out of storage.”

“Thomas said he would help me with that.” They could do with some brotherly bonding, and something told Abel they would need a lot of that in the coming weeks. “Dad?”

“What is it, Abel?”

“You and Pop, you’re coming back, right?” His fear of abandonment was an old one that stemmed from the deaths of his biological parents. “Someday you will come back, right?”

“Of course we will.” Juice wrapped an arm around Abel’s shoulders comfortingly. “We’ll call, text, email. We’re going to visit on holidays and some birthdays. We won’t just disappear.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

* * *

 

The goodbyes had taken longer than any of them anticipated. It was all fierce hugs, sweet kisses, and a whole lot of tears. By the time Juice and Stiles had climbed into the truck and pulled out of the driveway, they were both feeling raw from the emotions their farewell had brought up.

“Well, I never wanna do that again.” Stiles swept his fingers beneath his eyes to wipe away the tracks of tears. “I was half-convinced Casey was going to stow himself in one our suitcases.”

“He might have, you don’t know.” They had triple-checked the truck and their baggage for any extra bodies, but it was possible they missed someone. “I would say this is the last chance we have to turn around, but really, we can do that any time.”

“No turning around.” Stiles slid over to the middle of the bench seat and threaded their fingers together. “We’ve waited long enough for this.”

“We have.” Juice nodded as they reached the turn off at end of the dirt road of the preserve. “Left or right? Do you want to go by the cemetery before we leave or head straight for the highway?”

“Left to the cemetery, please.” Stiles instructed calmly. “I-I want to visit my mom and dad before we leave. I need to do that.”

“It won’t be the last time.” They would come home from time to time and visit their family, including the ones they had laid to rest. “You don’t have to say goodbye to them if you’re not ready.”

“I know, but I need to try.” His husband rested his head against his shoulder. “In the spirit of that…”

“Somewhere else you want to go?” Juice would take him anywhere he wanted to go, so long as they could drive there.

“Let’s pass through Charming on our way south.” It had been years since either of them had stepped foot in Charming, and there was only one reason Stiles would wish to return now. “I need to see my brother.”

“Okay.” That was one goodbye that was a long time coming. “And where are we headed after that?”

“Anywhere.”

“I hear it’s nice there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest with you, in the original ending I had planned Stiles died and Juice isn't really ready to accept it, so instead of having funeral he has Stiles cremated and takes the ashes on the road trip they never got to go on. 
> 
> A few weeks into that trip he ends up in South America at Derek and Cora's place. Cora let's him in and leaves him in the living room while she gets her brother. When Derek comes in, he spots the urn and falters, "Is that...-are Stiles ashes sitting on my coffee table?"  
> Juice glances from the urn to Derek and shrugs, "Well, I wasn't going to leave him in the car."


End file.
